Stockholm
by Spinner Dolphin
Summary: What does one do, when held hostage by a favorite character from a world that only exists in a book? What if that character doesn't turn out to be as nice as one thought? Complete. A Mary Sue with a bit of psychology. Revised
1. PROLOGUE

Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns the characters and places from Harry Potter. The only character that is mine is Amanda.

* * *

---

Prologue: Symptoms

The Stockholm syndrome is a psychological response sometimes seen in an abducted hostage, in which the hostage exhibits loyalty to the hostage-taker, in spite of the danger (or at least risk) in which the hostage has been placed.  
-Wikipedia

---

_Let me begin by telling you my name  
So you may know it well and I in times to come,  
If I can escape the fatal day, will be your host,  
Your sworn friend, though my home is far from here.  
- _The Odyssey (214, Fagels translation)

--

-

**B**efore you even begin to read this, I'm going to tell you that you'll never believe it. _I _still don't believe it, and it's already been a few years. When did _Order of the Phoenix_ come out? It happened around then.

I haven't told anyone, you know. Not even my parents. They won't believe the truth._ I_ still don't believe the truth. What everyone thinks – my friends, my relatives, my teachers – is that I was kidnapped by some psychopath who brought me far away and held me captive and a spy saved me, and got me back home using top-secret high-tech stuff to literally teleport me back to school.

In a way, it's true. But the real story is far more outrageous than that. And if I brought it up, I'd be laughed at, or at worst carted off to the loony bin or something; things like that simply _don't_ happen. But it happened to me.

I'm no hero. I sometimes feel like Rip Van Winkle – ever hear that story? Guy falls asleep and wakes up twenty years later, goes back to his home town and finds out there's been a revolution and everything's different now and everyone he knows is dead. He never did anything. The story just kind of happened to him and he was bewildered the whole way through. I feel like that sometimes.

I wear a necklace with a silver serpent on it, you know. It's curled around an empty, tiny vial. I've never known what to put in it, but it is more precious to me than anything. Sometimes I'll take it off and sit on my bed and hold it up to the light, admire it in the harsh electric brightness of my room. If my parents come in at such a time, and ask me what's wrong I'll tell them that I miss my friend – my friend who saved me. And they'll smile and ask, "Your spy?"

And I'll smile back, worriedly, and answer, "My spy."

No, I know what you're thinking. I'm not, and never was, in love with "my spy." Well, no, that's untrue. I was in love with him before I met him. Yes, that's possible.

You've guessed by now, of course. But that isn't so hard for you, reader, considering that there's only one spy that we knew of when _Order of the Phoenix_ came out. I'm a living, breathing Mary Sue. Don't worry, when I reached that realization, I was horrified, too. Then I was slightly irritated – I mean, where was my magic, beautiful hair, witty intelligence (that didn't get tied up in knots when I tried to use it, thank you), funky eyes, love life, etcetera, etcetera? I'm no hero. I'm just – me, mostly bewildered and scared, because I'm a coward.

But it happened. It's real. And for all that I was terrified, there was always a black shadow at my side. In the beginning it was scary and it seemed harsh, but as time went by I began to appreciate its quiet strength and startling softness.

So listen to my story. Decide for yourself whether you want to believe it or not, for I know that no matter how many times I tell you it's true, you'll never believe it unless you come to that conclusion yourself. But give me a chance before you scoff and turn away.

For now, just listen.

* * *

"Host" in Greek and Latin means both "guest" and "host"… it's a sort of reciprocal relationship. A wanderer is taken in by strangers and taken care of. Should the strangers ever be in the wanderer's homeland, the wanderer will take them in, in return. Fagels translated this word to be "host," which works just fine for the _Odyssey_ but for the sake of _this_ story, let it also mean "Ally."

-


	2. FEAR

**F e a r**

_(Victim is afraid)_

It was the beginning of tenth grade, when it happened. The _very_ beginning, perhaps the fourth week in. It was early in the morning, six-thirty to be exact, and I was walking the long, three-block walk to my bus stop. I had crossed the street to the second block over, and the light had just changed. I remember it clearly. Cars started rushing behind me, humming sullenly in the dark, early morning. I slogged onward to my bus stop, reaching up to play with the oak leaf necklace I had worn that day as I contemplated how late I had been up the night before, how much I'd rather be sleeping now. Nothing out of the ordinary. It's the City, so some people are up at six-thirty, but there aren't many and everyone's kind of miserable and it's dark and no one is paying attention to anyone else. That was why no one stopped what happened next.

In the dark of the morning, someone grabbed my backpack. I'm a city girl, so my reaction was to yank and shriek and sprint away. Unfortunately, this had never happened to me before, and I'm the quiet type who actually has to remember that you're _supposed_ to scream. So, in my fright, I only did two out of the three. This isn't so bad, I suppose, except for the fact that I, in my stupidity, ran right into a burly man.

"_Going_ somewhere, Muggle?" the woman who had grabbed me chortled, and my mind splintered in panic.

_Did she just say _Muggle? My brain demanded.

And in that moment of shock the man reached out and, I thought, hugged me.

Which was really strange.

Then I felt like I was being squeezed in all directions, which caused two simultaneous thoughts in my panic-stricken brain:

_Squeezed in all directions… isn't that impossible?_

And

_So this is what Apparition feels like. _

People say I'm gullible. I say that I have an almost desperate wish for the impossible. That's why my mind immediately jumped to the Harry Potter books. She'd said Muggle, after all, and I _was_ being squeezed.

And then, suddenly, it stopped. There was… well, I suppose you could call it a popping noise, but it was more than just that; it was the sound of air rushing apart and a vacuum being filled with not free floating molecules but solid person. There were three people, although I hesitate to call them "us" because I do not associate with the Lestranges. But it was them and me standing there and then there was another rushing sound, this time of air suddenly filling empty space, and I was left, shocked and alone in the dark.

You know, in horror movies, when the character is alone, and the music is soft, almost quiet, so you know something bad is going to happen? I felt like that then. I could even swear I felt the eyes of the moviegoers watching me, waiting excitedly. I wasn't excited. I was scared.

It was so dark and quiet. I hate the dark and such absolute silences terrify me. I shivered and swallowed, and stayed very, very still. My ears were ringing with the sudden silence and my whole body ached from the Apparition – for I was sure that was what it was. I waited, the ringing filling my ears, louder and louder, expecting something to jump out at me. I hate the dark and the silence.

Nothing happened, and the stupid ringing in my ears did not recede. But the atmosphere did not change, and nothing jumped out at me, frozen as I was in terror in the middle of some random, dark and scary place. I remained still until the familiar weight of my backpack began to comfort me and I remembered that my mom was paranoid and made me carry a flashlight and a candle. But I didn't have any matches for the candle, and the flashlight was a keychain. Better than nothing, though. I swallowed again and slowly, carefully sat down.

The ground was cold. And wet. I shivered again. I carefully took off my backpack, making sure to keep on touching it so I wouldn't loose it. I shuddered, overactive imagination filling with nightmares. My bag was very comforting, for some reason, and I feared that, should I release it, something slimy would reach out and steal it from me. I slowly took off my jacket, still hanging on for dear life to my bag, switching hands to get it off. I sat on my jacket, but it was still cold. I pulled my backpack onto my lap and hugged it, too scared to even cry.

Slowly, so not to alert any lurking thing (my mind strayed giddily to a certain old-fashioned demon from another book and I stifled a hysterical giggle) I reached into my bag, brushing past miscellaneous binders, my gym clothes and _The Odyssey, _which we were reading in English. I grabbed something and realized that it was my calculator. Finally, I found the stupid flashlight and pulled it out. I flipped it on and moaned with despair. It was very dim, much dimmer than it should have been.

I was confused, but figured that it was better than nothing.

It was so dammed quiet, and my breathing seemed so loud. I feared the things that I thought lay just beyond the tiny circle of light my flashlight gave me. I wanted to shine it in all directions to see everything, and wanted to turn it off so nothing could see me at the same time.

I pulled my jacket back on and stood up, slinging on my backpack. I wanted to rest against a wall, so I would feel like my back was protected. My neck was prickling. I could have sworn I was being watched, and it was really creeping me out. I felt very vulnerable, like something could just come out and eat me.

I walked, slowly and terrified, looking over my shoulder like every three seconds, and, to my delight, found a corner. It wasn't even slimy.

I took my bag off quickly, now, feeling more assured, and put my jacket on the ground and sat down. I hugged my bag again and clutched my flashlight.

This really sucked, I thought glumly. I really wanted to cry, but was afraid to make too much noise. I also wanted to sleep because it would make the time go faster, but I was too afraid to. Shivering, I regarded my flashlight, and worried that it would go out. What then? I had no matches for the candle (no one ever said my mom's paranoia made sense). How long did I have, how much light? A few hours, maybe. I wanted to save it. Taking a deep breath, I reluctantly turned off the light.

Oh, I hated the dark.

It wouldn't be so bad, I thought, if there was someone here. I'm not afraid of the dark when I'm not alone. I shut my eyes and waited. I played with the oak leaf necklace around my neck for comfort. It didn't help.

I got more scared, so I stopped myself in the middle of a panicked thought.

It's one of my coping mechanisms, what I did next. Carefully, meticulously, I pictured a field and mentally built a wall, brick by brick. It was something I'd read in a book, once, building a wall. It served no other purpose then to calm me, as I doubt it would really work for Legilimency, but it eased my panic. It required all of my attention. Brick by brick I built it up, reaching for an endless, mental sky. I got hungry at one point, and thirsty, and then I had to go to the bathroom, but with some effort I ignored those urges. I relaxed into my own world.

Then a door opened and I was jarred from my wall.

There was the woman again, Belatrix Lestrange. I was sure of it. I didn't see her face, as she was silhouetted in the light pouring in, but she was lean and skeletal in build and, had I been thinking coherently and not terrified out of my mind, I might have been jealous of her hair. She walked over to me and grabbed my hair, so quickly I couldn't even yelp, and we Apparited.

When she released me I hastily put on my jacket and backpack. I didn't want them to take either of those things away from me. I jammed my flashlight, turned off, into my pocket. Then I looked around and began to panic properly. Because, who else but a red-eyed and snake-like man stood before me. And, I might add, this man smelled disturbingly of sulfur. You read right: sulfur, rotten eggs.

That was just so—stereotypical. I mean sulfur, Hell, it's like a Thing.

I stared at him.

Voldemort raised his hairless eyebrows.

Now, this was such a, well, human thing to do, for a guy that looked so… inhuman. I still feel stupid saying this, but here's the truth; I started to giggle. A hysterical sort of giggle, yeah, but still. And then Lucius showed up.

And that just made things worse, because let me tell you, without his mask, he looks _exactly_ like the actor who plays him in the movies. No kidding. So what did I do? Laughed harder, as the Death Eaters started appearing. And all I could think was this: I am in _such_ deep shit.

And I _never_ curse.

Voldemort turned to the woman whom I was quite sure was Belatrix and asked in a really creepy hissing voice, "This is the one you chose?"

"Yes, milord," she murmured, and I was surprised. Wasn't she supposed to be insane?

"Speak, then, Muggle," Voldemort said in what seemed to be an attempted pleasant voice, "What is your name?"

I, in my ever present stupidity, gave my name through my panicked giggles. "Amm—Am-m- Am-m-ma-n-nda." I managed, still hysterical. He scowled.

"Will someone give her a calming draft?" he snapped irritably. "Severus?"

_Severus! _My mind shrieked. Alright, I'll admit it – I had a bit of a crush on him at the time. I thought he'd save me and bring me to Dumbledore and bring me home, like the perfect little hero my mind had made him out to be. But, as my mind brought up these images as he approached, my heart sank and I remembered: Legilimency. Voldemort could read that he was a spy off me. This was bad – I couldn't cover my thoughts.

He handed me the potion. I was panicking and not thinking straight. I downed it, and froze before I swallowed.

_Idiot! _

It could have been poison for all I knew. Too late now. I closed my eyes and swallowed. If I died now, I figured after I'd gulped, I wouldn't be tortured.

My thoughts were surprisingly lucid.

Ah. It _was_ a calming draft, then.

So much for the lack of torturing thing, then.

And there it was. The idea, in my head. Severus wouldn't be exposed in my thoughts. I conjured up images, remembered a fanfic that I had once read – one in which Lucius Malfoy was the spy. I, for a moment, accepted _that_ as cannon. And so I filled my head with worry, which was real, but I pictured the wrong man.

Best way to lie. With the truth. And if there's one thing I'm proud of, it's my ability to speak with facts and not truths.

Oh, I was terrified, terrified that it wouldn't work. I'm no hero, and my confidence was at, if you'll pardon the rhyme, zero. Below zero. I had negative self esteem. I started shaking.

So much for the calming draft. Then to my shock and fear, Voldemort grinned. It was creepy, but it was a grin.

"Rookwood," he hissed, "Goyle. Escort Lucius to the other room, will you? I should like to… speak with him, after. It seems our little experiment worked."

I was too afraid to be triumphant. Which was really lucky, because usually I pick the worst times to drop my guard.

Voldemort turned to me, and looked me dead in the eyes. I felt my panic rise, and then remembered to think to myself, _Lucius! Dumbledore's spy – what'll he do now? Please, oh please don't hurt him! _

_Oh, crap,_ _Legilimency! _I turned away, not daring to hope that he got all that. Calming drafts, I thought, were a wonderful thing.

Let me tell you something, now. This is the one moment I am truly proud of, all this you've just read. This trickery, this deceit—I have never thought this rationally in a crisis before or after this event. Seriously. Never. Calming potions are _amazing_ to the frantic mind.

"Do you know why you're here, Muggle girl?" Voldemort purred. I shivered slightly, remembered not to look him in the eyes. I shook my head, gazing at my feet.

"You see?" he cried to his followers, "The world she comes from teaches them rightly – never to look their betters in the face!" he turned to me and grabbed my chin.

His hand was slimy, oozing, twining, sharp and soft and skin-like, snake-like, bird and fish-like…

I _felt_ the calming draft leave my system. I completely panicked, and, moron that I am, what did I do?

I _froze_. Like a deer, like a rabbit staring into a wolf's eyes. Or, more appropriately, a mouse into a snake's.

He said something else but I didn't catch it. And then I felt him rip into my mind.

In the fifth book, Harry does not describe it to its fullest, when Snape entered his mind. Because, when it happened to me, it felt like… like nothing else, I can't even describe it.

It was horrible, and strangely wonderful. Violating, and yet somehow freeing, to have someone know every single secret in your brain.

The problem with his plan, though, was that I had read lots of fanfiction. As Voldemort ripped through my brain, he found hundreds of plots, and only one of them was cannon. Snape was the spy in the majority of them, but there were a few in which he was not, in which he betrayed the Order. The problem with Voldemort's plan was that Legilimency is limited to memory and images. It gets a little bit of emotion – that's how he can tell if people are lying, the worry spikes – but no words. None. And I think in words, all of my knowledge is in words, and all of those stories are in words. And he could not see that, could not see what was fannon and what was cannon.

He released me and raised his eyebrows again.

"So which is true, little girl?" he whispered harshly to me. I just stared blankly at him, trembling.

Shock, I suppose.

"D-don't kill him," I whispered, loosing my picture Lucius then and unable to stop Snape from floating to the front of my mind, "please d-don't hurt him."

Reverse psychology and dumb luck. 'S a wonderful thing. Voldemort thought I was trying to hide Lucius and make him think that Snape was the spy. He thought I had conjured up the images of Snape being the spy, in order to protect Lucius. I had really read a great many fics and he couldn't see what I thought about them. There was one – in which Lucius was the spy – that sort of stayed in my brain. I think he might have seen that one, but he didn't see how sad it had made me, only that its effect had lasted. He saw only flashes of it, for I had read it only once, but he must have thought I was trying to hide it. That's the problem with Slytherin cunning; it's so twisty that it's gone around in a circle.

Voldemort smiled and I shook again. Then weariness started to tug at my limbs, for no reason at all.

"What to do, now?" he purred, "What other information can I get from you, little girl?" the Death Eaters were laughing, and it was a dull roar in my ears. Was this a story, I thought, the main character would've said something terrifically witty and brave now. But I was more tired than I'd ever been in my life, so all I did was sink to my knees.

"Where does the Order of the Phoenix reside?" he spat the name. I was still thinking of fanfic, and was so exhausted that even in my own mind fanon and canon were muddied together. For some reason my mind grasped onto another fic, where, Gimmald place having been destroyed, they resided at Emmeline Vance's beaten-up old place.

"I d-don't –Vance's," I breathed. I closed my eyes. Having your mind ripped through really tires you out.

"Excellent." The snake-man purred. He waved his hand at two of the Death Eaters, and they vanished.

"What does the prophesy say?"

I murmured, "You've g-gotta kill Harry, or he's gotta kill y-you." I was so tired...

"That is all?" he demanded harshly.

"Yes," I muttered, and then, my mouth moving of its own accord I quoted, "'And either must die at the h-hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives.'"

"Excellent," Voldemort purred, and then, cupping my chin again, he said over my gasp, "So you see! You wonder, my loyal servants, why an ordinary Muggle knows so much. It is because she comes from another world. A world in which this is all a story. Who knows whether or not her world, too, holds Wizards? We have looked, my servants, and found none." Later this would break my heart, but at the moment I was concentrating on how horrible his hand felt. "And so she gives us such vital information, that she has gotten from these books… Severus, my servant, she seems to hold you as my most loyal. Return with her to your home, do as you will, but keep her alive. For it is late, and no doubt you all must return to your daily life. So you see how considerate your lord is."

Thank god I was too exhausted to be happy about my luck. All I wanted to do was sleep. There were murmurs of thanks and all Appirated away but Snape, and I was too tired to care.


	3. CONTROL

**C o n t r o l**

_(Victim is in the captor's control)_

I think I might've blacked out, because the next thing I remember was a horrible smell and bright lights. I coughed.

"Up," growled a rumbling voice. I opened my eyes slowly, realizing that someone was holding something under my nose. I batted the awful-smelling thing away, and hands removed it. I looked up.

And there he was. In black robes, as expected, with dark, dark brown eyes and a hooked nose, greasy hair hanging limply around his ears. He looked nothing like the actor, but he was easy to recognize to my eyes. I blinked sleepily at him.

"This isn't h-happening," I declared, rolled over and closed my eyes. I was still tired.

Have I mentioned that I've got a stutter? It only gets bad if I'm nervous or excited, but it's rather noticeable, to me, anyway. Severus, luckily, did not comment on it.

"Oh yes it is," he hissed and grasped my shoulder, pulled me back. He glared.

And I'll be honest. I was frightened. His eyes were snapping and he snarled, "Get up, Muggle."

I did as I was bid, too afraid to do otherwise.

And it hurt, too, that he was being so mean to me. I'd had him pinned as a good guy in my mind, after all. My eyes grew misty, but I blinked it away. He _was_ mean, I reminded myself, that was his personality.

I drew myself up. "A-are you going t-to take me to d-Dumbledore?" I whispered, eyes downcast.

"_What_?" he hissed, and glanced around. I heard a window snap shut.

The shock in his voice made me look up.

We were in a room with sunlight streaming through the windows. The walls were lined with bookshelves filled with books. It was… not cheerful, really, but not dank and dark, and certainly not dungeons, either.

This wasn't Hogwarts, I realized. Where were we? I looked at him.

And immediately looked down. His face was like a thundercloud. "What makes you think that?" he spat.

I shivered, afraid. He was really, really scary. I was fighting back tears.

Yeah, I was fifteen at the time. I'm a wimp, what can I say? I shut my eyes.

"You know," I mumbled, "Y-you work for him."

I'd always trusted him. Always. But now, now that he was here, so real and so scary, my trust was wavering, and it broke my heart. I really did like him. Or, rather, liked his character. His reality was, however, almost too much for me.

"I thought," he said slowly, threateningly, and I cringed away a bit, "you said Lucius was the spy."

I shivered. "D-d-d-didn't w-wan-n-nt t-to in-in-in-incrimi-n-nate you," I managed, my stutter getting worse in my fear. I took a peek at him.

He was staring at me. "You do realize," he snarled furiously and I cringed away again, "that you've just fooled the strongest wizard of our time?"

"He's g-got l-Legilimency," I whispered, "I j-just remembered f-fanfiction."

I think I did trust him, even then. I wouldn't have told him that, otherwise.

Actually, I shouldn't've told him that, to be honest.

"_Fanfiction,_" he said in disgust, and that was my breaking point. A few tears leaked down between my lashes. And they weren't the perfect single tear by any stretch of the imagination – my nose started to clog up and they were salty and stinging. I tried hard not to sniff and wiped the tears away.

"S-saved your l-life, though, didn't it?" I whispered hoarsely to my feet. I felt him move away.

"It's true, then," he said harshly. "This is a book."

I nodded.

"What is it called, may I ask? And who is the author?" he growled. I never knew someone could ask a question so curiously and be so intimidating at the same time.

I grimaced, and tried not to sniffle. "Um… if-if you'll excuse me, I d-don't think you really want to know what it's c-called," I said quickly, afraid of his reaction to my refusal, "but the author's JK r-Rowling."

He glared, and I backed off. "Harry Potter t-takes the title, m-Mr. Snape" I said. Where Mr. Snape came from, I don't know, but there it was.

"Potter," he spat, "naturally."

Well. It was an improvement, to be honest. At least he wasn't being all nasty to _me_…

I shrugged a little, and wiped away one of my irritating tears. "Book's f-from his point of view, too," I offered, hoping that he saw the olive branch, "kind of annoying, actually. You see e-everything through Harry-colored glasses."

Snape snorted, as if amused, but then turned flashing eyes to me. "You will not be able to win me over with niceties, Muggle girl," he spat, "I can see right through you."

I flinched as if slapped, and it felt like he'd just lured me over with a sweet, only to box my ears as I approached. I closed my eyes, calming myself. So much for making peace, I thought.

He was _mean_, the little girl in me wailed.

Of course he's mean, I thought back, he's _Snape_. I squeezed my eyes shut, preventing more tears. "Where are w-we?" I whispered, "This isn't H-Hogwarts."

"Don't ask questions," he spat, "and sit down. Tea?" I blinked, startled, and looked at him. He was wearing a thunderous expression and holding out a plain white tea cup as if it would bite him. I wondered momentarily where it had come from, but then realized that he had probably conjured it. I've never really liked tea, so I shook my head. "N-no thanks," I whispered.

He gave a little nod and poured himself a cup.

"I," he started, falling into what seemed to be his default sneer, "do not live in Hogwarts year round. This is Spinner's End." He sipped. I didn't know someone could look so scary while drinking tea.

"Oh," I said softly. Half Blood Prince hadn't come out yet, remember, so I didn't know this.

"Don't interrupt," he snapped after he'd swallowed, "Tell me, girl, who will win this war?"

I blinked at him. "Um. The series isn't f-finished yet, and I probably shouldn't t-tell you, anyway," I said, my sentence fading away as he glared. I squirmed in my seat, but I held my ground.

"Should you not?" he growled, intimidating me for all he was worth. I shrank in my seat.

"I d-don't really know, to be honest," I whispered, afraid, "I suspect Dumbledore's side, but I c-could be wrong. The series isn't f-_finished_ yet."

Snape's eyes glinted for a moment. "And what year are you up to, in this book?"

I shrugged. "Harry P-Potter's fifth year."

Snape looked startled, for a moment. "Who is the Defense against the Dark Arts teacher?" he asked, sounding more curious than intimidating.

I wrinkled my nose. "Umbrige," I said.

"That witch!" Snape exclaimed, leaping up, "that conceited ministry pawn? What is Dumbledore _thinking_?"

It clicked. This was the summer before Harry's fifth year.

You shouldn't've told him that, I thought to myself. Too late now. I smiled faintly. "Yeah," I whispered, offering another olive branch, "She's a t-toad, isn't she? The whole m-ministry's a toad." I thought for a second, realized that it wouldn't hurt and added, "You'll want to make a batch of f-fake Veritaserum. She'll ask you for the r-real stuff, later. This year is r-rather disastrous." I smiled at him shyly.

He looked at me for a long moment. Then, to my shock, he didn't say something nasty. "I see," he said lowly. He studied me for a long time, and I fiddled with my necklace.

I sighed softly, homesick already. Then I blinked. "M-Mr. Snape?" I asked quietly. I figured I'd called him that once and he hadn't responded with anger…

"What?" he asked sharply, far-away eyes focusing.

I ignored the tone and asked softly, "Do you n-know where my backpack is? I had it when… when Belatrix L-Lestrange brought me here."

Snape snorted. "It's Le-_strange. _Not Le-_stronge,_" He said scornfully. I quirked a half-smile at him, self-mocking. "I always r-read names wrong," I said.

"Oh?" he purred dangerously, "What of my name?"

I smiled now. Self-mockery was my thing. "Oh, you were al-always Severus Snape to me," I said, but then leaned in towards him with a shy grin, "but I thought the g-game Exploding Snap was Exploding _Snape_ for a while, and w-wondered for a while why thirteen-year-olds wanted to p-play pretend."

He snorted. I was beginning to think that that was all he could do. He didn't laugh – he snorted. Well, at least I'd amused him. If I'm amusing, maybe he won't be so mean to me, I thought.

No such luck.

He drawled nastily, "My, my, you must be in_com_petent."

Alright. That really hurt. The words weren't so bad, but it was the condescending, cruel tone. Here I was, trying to be friendly, and he had to go and be nasty like that. Tears pricked my eyes again. _Damn_ it, I thought, hating to be so sensitive. I tried to shake them away, but it didn't work. I bit the inside of my cheek, and that sort of worked. I was shy, but by now I was assured that he wasn't going to harm me, so I plucked up what little courage I had and said, "That was un-uncalled f-for. I l-like you a lot; I was h-hoping that w-we c-could at least be s-civil."

His eyes flashed. Wrong thing to say, I realized a second before he exploded. "_L-like me a l-lot?_" he mocked, "Does my character _fascinate_ you, little girl? Training to be a _psychologist_? Think I'd be an interesting case? I'm no figure of fantasy, little Muggle girl, I'm as real as can be, and not your little sugar coated imaginary friend."

I reeled back and tears immediately sprung to my eyes. That was really mean! I wiped them away.

"I could kill you with a _word_," he growled, moving to stand in front of me, a tower of black cloak.

I was sniffling by now.

"_Weakling,_" he spat, "I know your type. You live in a world of your own making, a fantasy land. Well, here you are, in your world – like it?" he demanded harshly, "Think it's _f-fun_?"

I glared at him under wet lashes, heart broken as he mocked my stutter. I _had_ sugar coated him; the Severus of my mind was nowhere near this mean. He was sharply witty, yeah, but not like this, not unreasonably nasty. The real Snape in front of me wasn't really witty, he was just cruel and mocking.

"There's a room upstairs," he growled. "Now go."

I fled like a bat out of hell.

-

My bag was sitting on the bed when I got there. My eyes stung and all I really wanted to do was to sit down and have a really good cry. He was right, in a way, I was a bit of a weakling, back then. I did cry a bit, head down in the pillow, but after fifteen minutes or so I was cried out. My life in general isn't really that distressing, so I don't have that much crying stamina. I wiped my eyes and tried to get a hold of myself, hiccupping softly. I tried to build another wall, but the red bricks in my mind were too cheerful, and I was too distracted. The wall wavered and vanished like so much mist. I looked around my room, fiddling with my oak leaf necklace.

You'll notice that I've started calling him Snape, rather than Severus, while in the beginning I was using his first name. This is because, at the time, I wasn't on first-name basis with him, and in my mind I called him Snape. Later, when we got to know each other a bit, I would start to call him by his first name.

I was really lucky, I thought faintly, trying to cheer myself up, I had a bathroom. It would be awkward to go downstairs each time I had to go or wanted to shower.

I was still upset. I turned to my backpack.

I had some books, but I didn't really want to read. I took out a sheet of paper and started doodling.

I can't draw. My studio art class in ninth grade had been humiliating because I am simply unable to draw. My lions look like cows and my cows like aliens. I can draw a decent tree and a pretty good dragon, but that's about it. Maybe, if it's a good day, I can draw a cartoon-ish horse, but that's not very often. I drew a dragon.

I love drawing dragons, despite the fact that they all come out looking like demented puppets or something. I can get absorbed in them, drawing eyes and trying to draw fire in them, never succeeding.

It took my mind off of Snape's cruelty, my dragon. I relaxed a bit, drawing wings and little curly mustaches. I made them as aerodynamic as I could, putting sails on their backs in order to balance them, made huge, huge wings to keep them aloft. I drew one with a little ball-toy-thing and another breathing fire (or something kind of like fire, you can never tell with my drawings). I drew an enlarged eye, with slit pupils and I tried to put fire in it, but it came out looking like cataracts.

I sighed, an hour later, page filled front and back with dragons. Or things that at least looked like dragons. I tried to draw a horse in the upper left hand corner, but it ended up looking sort of vulgar so I crossed it out.

I was bored, now.

Next I tried writing. Not stories, my ego was too bruised for that, but little poems about how mean Snape was. I'm not that great at writing poems, too, unless I get into a mood. I'll spare you, reader; they were rather bad.

So I sat and wrote for another hour or so until I started to get hungry. The exact same moment my stomach complained, a plate of food appeared before me. I blinked, startled, but then I ate it cautiously. I took one bite, and about fifteen minutes later I felt no effect, so I finished it, still worrying an hour later if I'd die from poison or something. But, as you can see, I'm alive and well, so the food was not poisoned.

The first three days or so were like that, me shut up in that little room with nothing to do but eat and sleep and doodle and write. I showered five times, killing time. I slept badly – having nothing to do tends to do that. On the fourth day, though, I wanted something else to do. Stupidly, I forgot that _The Odyssey _was in my bag and I could have just read that. I decided to go downstairs and ask Snape for something to read. I plucked up my courage and walked from the room, down the stairs where I found Snape making a potion.

I know it's a cliché to say that I was amazed, but it's true. It was like he was dancing, and not some idiotic impromptu thing, but really dancing, really showing emotion. There was an open greenish book and blue steam rose gently from the great black cauldron, and I remember thinking – I've never seen steam that color before. He was chopping some orange thing – a root perhaps – and the rhythmatic sound of the knife combined with the soft bubble of the caldron and the hiss of the flames to create a kind of music. As he chopped, his body swayed slightly, and, after he finished, light on his feet he strode over and tipped the orange thing into the cauldron. It seemed as if he never touched the ground. He took a long wooden spoon and stirred, the soft swishing of it filling the room. Again he swayed softly, completely absorbed. I stood by the doorway, mesmerized.

He was _beautiful_, I thought to myself. Then I was embarrassed and angry at myself at the same time. He was cruel, I reminded myself, and nasty and he'll bite your head off as soon as look at you. I sighed.

He didn't even notice.

I stood there for perhaps half an hour before he finished; finally a red potion bubbled softly. He turned down the heat and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. He turned to sit on one of the chairs, and froze when he saw me. The relaxed look vanished, and he scowled.

"What do you want, Muggle?" he spat.

It didn't hurt this time, I realized. I was angry, now, but I knew better than to show it. If I snapped at him, there'd definitely be a shouting match. And he would definitely win. I'm not really good at the whole witty comeback thing unless you give me three hours to come up with one and a pad of paper to write it on.

"I was w-wondering if you have any n-novels I could read," I said softly. I wanted to bring up the potion, but didn't know how. He looked at me for a long moment before, to my shock, he nodded curtly and strode over to one of the bookshelves, snatched a book and thrust it at me. "Here," he said, and the warning that if I damaged it in any way, shape or form I'd be dead meat was perfectly clear. I smiled faintly, and took it carefully.

"Thanks," I said, trying to be polite. I glanced at the potion, now still in its cauldron.

There was an awkward silence for a moment.

"Wolfsbane," he said suddenly. I looked at him for a moment and then I realized–

"F-for Lupin?"

He was looking at me thoughtfully. "Yes."

I looked at him, as if for permission, and then slowly approached the caldron. I peered inside it, careful not to get too close. I leaned away from it and looked back at him. "It's red? I pictured it as b-brownish."

"It changes color," he said. His voice was surprisingly civil. "What grade are you in?" He asked suddenly.

I blinked. I thought he, being a wizard, wouldn't know of this sort of thing. "Tenth," I answered.

"You are studying chemistry?" his voice, now, was stern rather than cruel. I was startled. Why did he know this? I knew better than to ask.

"Yeah." I decided to be bold. "B-bio is m-more my thing, though."

It was a risk, and I waited on tender hooks, but I was rewarded.

"Bio?" he scoffed, "Bio is nothing without Chem."

I was floored. Here, finally, something I can respond to! I relaxed.

"P-perhaps," I said, "but I'd rather c-concentrate on the things I can s-see and interact with than math-y c-chemicals." I smiled at him hopefully.

"Bio can't do this," he gestured at his caldron.

"It can d-do other things," I asserted, enjoying myself now, although I knew I was on thin ice, "it's the reason you're s-standing here, talking."

"No, that's Chem," he said, and I had to tell myself not to stare. He'd quirked a tiny, almost mischievous smile.

"Ah," I responded to his half-smile with a full one of my own, "it could be ar-argued that that's _physics._"

He scoffed. "Physics is nothing but mathematics and laws."

"I have t-to agree with you on that one," I grinned. I was delighted. Civil conversation! This man was extremely unpredictable. One moment he's snarling, the next he's smiling. Perhaps I have to leave him alone for three days before his mood changes, I reflected with an inner chuckle.

There was an almost comfortable silence.

"Well?" he demanded harshly, suddenly, "are you going to read that or not?"

One civil conversation must be his quota for the week, I thought. I nodded and, waving the book a bit, said, "T-thanks," before racing up the stairs.

I could feel his eyes on my back, as if he was appraising me.

--


	4. OVERANALYZE

**O v e r - a n a l y z e**

_(Victim overanalyzes "small acts of kindness")_

About a month went by. I stayed mostly in the room that I'd come to think of as mine, pacing back and forth to use up energy, and occasionally going downstairs to ask Snape for something to read. Snape and I had three other short, vaguely science-y conversations whenever I went downstairs for another book, but nothing major.

I always slept badly, having used up no energy to make me tired during the day. I think I must have gained weight, as I didn't burn energy, but I've never really cared about that sort of thing. It's not like I ever had a reputation or anything. Well, no, I've got friends and stuff; I'm just not part of the "in" crowds that need to be stick thin. My friends like me for who I am.

Um. Anyway. Back to the story.

Belatrix had come to Spinner's End once, and I'd had to remember not to look her in the eyes when Snape called me down. I didn't know if she was a Legilimens or not. I was frightened, but in my fear I realized that she was not nearly insane as she was in book five, which perplexed me until I realized that all I knew of her was through Harry's eyes.

She and Snape talked about potions, Draco Malfoy, and "the Potter boy." It was a surprisingly mundane conversation from what I heard and it was odd hearing adults talking about Wizarding things with such seriousness. Even I never used that tone when I talked about the books.

But I stayed upstairs for the most part.

Snape went to one other Death Eater meeting – I hesitate to call them Dark Revels, because I've never heard them actually called that – and, to my surprise, he came back unscathed. I, from fanfiction, I suppose, expected him to come back shivering from the Crustatus Curse, or bleeding or in pain or something.

But he was just fine, to my confusion.

He had drilled me for information to bring to Voldemort before he had left, but I never told him anything major and, oddly, he didn't push me. I no longer remember what I told him, and going back and re-reading _Order of the Phoenix_ is no help. I believe that the information that I gave him was taken out of my memory and incorporated into the book, and into cannon.

I never knew why he did not bring me myself. I'd like to think now that even then he was trying to protect me, but I highly doubt it. There was some other motive there, but I have no idea what it was. Maybe he liked the power of having a monopoly of my information, I don't know.

One time, perhaps three weeks after I'd arrived, however, he did come back with blood running down his cheek. I knew he'd bite my head off if I approached, so I stayed back, in the hallway and watched as he sat wearily in the chair. I wanted to look away from all the blood, but it was mesmerizing.

"Come out," he spat, "I know you're there."

Timidly, I entered the room. "A-are you alright?" I asked softly.

As mentioned before, he was very hard to predict, and I did not yet know how to deal with him when he was feeling moody, so I feared his anger. He scowled at me.

"You see this?" he growled, wiping away at the blood on his forehead. I nodded timidly and shivered slightly. He was angry, and I knew by now not to mess with him when he was angry. It wouldn't help to talk.

"This is what I get from your precious _Order_," he snarled at me, surging up and snatching a potion bottle, dabbing some potion on the wound under his hair. "_Civilized_ people don't harm their followers," he growled to himself. He turned to me. "You're _dismissed_, Muggle girl!" he spat, and I split, racing up the stairs.

The_ Order of the Phoenix _did that to him? I thought in shock, sitting on my bed, he was wounded in an Order meeting, and not in a Death Eater meeting?

That didn't seem to fit, somehow.

The fourth week I was there, he actually came up to my room.

"Pack your bag," he growled, looking with a disdainful eye at my five binders, Latin text book and _The Odyssey, _which I'd finally remembered, sitting on the floor, "You're coming to Hogwarts."

I stared at him. "I'm w-what?" I breathed.

He flicked his wand, and my stuff slipped into my backpack, which zipped itself up.

"Hogwarts," he snapped, "I suppose you know what _that_ is?" he asked disdainfully.

I nodded. "Are-are you taking me to D-Dumbledore?"

"No," he growled, thrusting my backpack at me. I took it. "You're going to stay in my rooms, where no one can see you."

I blinked. That didn't fit with what I thought I knew of him, but I didn't ask. He'd only snap at me. I took my bag.

He's on his own side, I realized with horror, neither Dumbledore's nor Voldemort's. Or, at least I hoped so, hoped desperately that he wasn't really on Voldemort's side. I did trust him, though. I couldn't help it. He was my favorite character, despite the fact that he was mean. He was _still_ my favorite character, even after all this time, even after he'd snapped at me and snarled at me. Why?

I've no idea. I would like to say that I could 'read' him, that I knew intuitively, because in a story that sounds nice, but truthfully I never know these things and the last time I tried to judge someone intuitively it ended, shall we say, not very prettily. Perhaps I trusted him through habit, or maybe the fanfiction made him someone in my mind that he was, and is, not. I do not know.

So I complied. We floo'd over, which was not a very nice experience. It was like being on one of those spin-y chairs, with the wheels. You know, a computer chair, only there was lots and lots of ash, which got into my hair and eyes and made me sneeze. Harry, in the book, said that he could see glimpses of other fireplaces. I couldn't – I saw only ash, and the occasional light.

Harry also didn't describe that one could feel the other people using the floo whizzing past. It was an unpleasant sensation – I was always afraid we'd crash.

Then Snape's hand jerked, and he pulled me through a fireplace and into his quarters.

The first thing I noticed was that the walls were stone. There were two chairs facing the fireplace, with a rug in front of them, and behind the chairs was a stone wall, and a closed door. It wasn't brick, but cold, gray stone with a bookshelf on it. On the left wall there was another shelf, with bottles of all sizes and colors, and a desk as well as a cauldron. To the right of that was a door which I suspected lead to a bathroom. To the right of the fireplace there was a doorway which led to a bedroom, and by the doorway was a large wooden wardrobe.

Snape walked over to the wardrobe, and opened it. It was empty. He gestured with his wand and the space within grew larger, without stretching the wardrobe itself. He conjured up a mattress and some sheets, and left a bit of the floor bare.

"This is where you'll sleep," he growled nastily.

A _wardrobe_ I wanted to shout, that's worse than a cupboard under the stairs!

But I didn't want to fight with him. I docilely walked over to it and dumped my bag in it. I looked up at him.

"C-could I have another change of c-clothes?" I asked quietly. I had been lucky – I was taking a pair of gym clothes to school that day when I was captured, so I had two pairs, but after a month two pairs of clothes were starting to smell.

Snape harrumphed and waved his wand; a second pair of sweatpants, gray, as well as a gray shirt appeared and fell lightly on the mattress.

"Thanks," I murmured, mostly out of habit. My parents had drilled me in manners and it was unconscious by now.

He nodded, an odd look flickering in his eye before it vanished into the depths of his mind. He gestured again; a small candle holder appeared as well, and a small stack of white candles appeared next to it as well as some matches. I blinked, surprised. Here was a bit of kindness I hadn't expected. I hadn't asked for candles and he didn't even know I hated the dark.

"The wardrobe is warded against fires," he said sternly, as if expecting me to burn it down in my idiocy, despite the spells, "and so is the mattress, your backpack and your clothes."

I nodded. "Thanks," I repeated. There it was again – that odd look. Huh.

Maybe he didn't get thanked that often.

He left me for Dumbledore's office, threatening that should I be seen I'd be in big trouble. I hid in the wardrobe.

And so my stay at Hogwarts began.

-

I remained in the wardrobe for the rest of the day, with the door half-closed, so I could see out but no one could see in unless they came around. It was surprisingly comfortable, my wardrobe. The floor was wood, and there was enough of it for me to pace a little, two steps back and two steps forth, and the mattress was soft and a nice place to sit. It was small and cozy, to my surprise, rather than being small and confining, which was odd, considering that it was, you know, a wardrobe.

I had started by then to read the _Odyssey_, one of my schoolbooks. I've always loved Greek myths, so it was an entertaining read. I just wished that I was in the class – I would've loved discussing this stuff. But I contented myself with just the book, enjoying every minute of it. I annotated. I suppose I thought I'd be getting home soon enough for the test. I referenced other myths in my annotations, and put little stars next to the cultural stuff. My _Odyssey_ is more annotated than all my other school books _combined. _

So, while waiting for Snape to return I read my book, humming and underlining and writing little notes in the corners.

I felt eyes on me, after a while, and looked up. Snape was standing in front of me. He thrust a plate at me.

"That better not be one of my books," he growled.

"N-no," I answered gamely, "this is one of m-mine."

"Then why are you always asking to borrow mine?" he spat.

I gave a little one-shouldered shrug. My book had relaxed me enough so that I wasn't a quivering ball of terrified jelly, I suppose. "I was s-saving this one," I said. I didn't really know why I had asked him for his stuff. I suppose I'd forgotten about my _Odyssey_, or maybe it was just because I, like the crazy girl I am, wanted to interact with him. I closed the book on my finger and accepted the plate of food. "Thanks," I said.

He nodded and was about to turn away when his eyes fell on the title. He raised an eyebrow. "_The Odyssey_?" he asked. He sounded faintly surprised.

"Yeah," I said. "It's pretty g-good, so far. You've r-read it?"

"Have I read it," he scoffed and turned away. I was prepared to call it rudeness, but he then returned, holding a large green book, which positively dwarfed my small, thick and yellow copy. My eyes widened. He smirked and opened it.

It was a Wizarding book. It had moving pictures – I saw Odysseus blinding Polyphemus, the Cyclops, with a long pole, and Snape flipped to another page – a picture of Odysseus' men going by the sirens, and faint music thrummed from the page.

"W-wow," I breathed. I got up, folding the page of my book over, and walked around to stand next to him, so to see the pictures better. I looked at him for permission, and when he nodded I gently turned the page. The story itself was hand written, but neat enough to read, and the pictures beside it were spectacular. I was amazed, and said so.

"Like ancient myths, then, do you?" He asked off handedly, and I nodded.

"Greek, m-mostly," I smiled at him. He raised his eyebrows.

"You have criteria for them?" he asked judgmentally. I shrugged.

"I don't n-know any others."

He closed his _Odyssey_ and walked over to his shelf. The conversation was clearly over. I returned to reading my book.

The next day I found a book of Chinese myths by my wardrobe.

And so it went like that. Every week or so, I'd find a new book of myths by the entrance of my wardrobe, and I was delighted with each one. Egyptian ones were next, and after that Norse. They were fascinating.

And then school started.

Snape disappeared for the entire day and returned (after briefly showing up at around twelve with my lunch), at around three thirty, muttering and scowling. He threw his outer robe violently onto the hook, and collapsed onto one of the chairs.

"Another bunch of dunderheads," he spat at the fireplace, which obligingly ignited, "not an intelligent one in the lot!"

He seemed to have forgotten that I was there. I fingered my Norse myth book. I thought I owed it to him, to say something nice, especially when he seemed so stressed out. I just had no idea what to say. Taking a deep breath, I pushed my door open a bit.

"L-look on the bright side," I said softly, "you have a n-new NEWT class, right? Surely they m-must be pretty good. And it's your l-last year with Boy Wonder, I think."

He turned to me, eyes flashing. "Get out of there, you stupid girl, and look at me when you speak," he spat.

Well. That was unexpected. I plucked up my courage, and got out of the wardrobe and walked over to him, still holding the Norse myth book. I stood in front of him.

"The year'll end," I told him. "You'll—you'll g-get through it. You will – I've read the book."

"Ah," he drawled, "that's right. Tell me, then, girl – will any of my idiotic students kill me this year? The first years managed to make a simple, _three-ingredient_ brew explode. None of the ingredients were volatile. Their stupidity astounds me."

I chuckled softly. He glared. "Think it's _funny_, do you?" he spat.

"I think their s-stupidity is funny, yes." I said, still smiling, although my laughter faded. "It's amusing t-to see them flounder, sometimes. Your p-predicament isn't funny, though."

He blinked at me. He seemed startled that I was taking his side. Then, to my shock, he smiled, just a little, more in his eyes than his mouth.

"Yes, I suppose it is. I made a second year wet himself." There was a hint of pride there.

I was on thin ice, I could sense it. Take his side, I thought suddenly, and I'd be there forever. I smiled at him, despite the little bit of sympathy for the poor second-year. "You m-must be the scariest teacher there is here." I told him, still smiling. I was hoping he'd take it as a complement. "You did l-let the poor kid leave, after, didn't you?" I used a jesting tone, very gentle; I didn't want him to take offence.

His smile widened, just a hair. Well done, I thought to myself. I've made an ally.

"Of course," he said airily. "Couldn't have him smelling up my room."

It was the way he said it that made me laugh. A real laugh, too. I'd no idea – he'd taken on the flippant air of a comedian. It startled me. This didn't fit in with the prickly man I'd gotten to know over the last month-and-a-half.

My laughter died down, and there was a comfortable (I was shocked!) silence. He nodded to the book in my hand.

"How are you finding other mythology?" he asked. I beamed at him.

"I _love_ it."

I'll spare you the details, reader, as you might perhaps find it dull, but we proceeded to have an absolutely fascinating conversation about the various myths I'd read, and we ended up comparing them. Strange consistencies in myths from all over the world – I was in nerd heaven. We spoke for hours, our conversation weaving here and there until it was time for him to go to dinner. He left, promising to bring back a plate of food, and as the door shut I leaned back on my chair (I'd eventually sat down) and closed my eyes, smiling.

It was so great to have a full conversation, and an interesting one, no less, after weeks and weeks of tense, awkward words and stiff silence.

He was fascinating – I'd learned that he was fluent in Latin, which I was studying, and he'd known a great deal about Muggle sciences, which was surprising. He'd told me that he'd once built a CRT – a cathode ray tube – inside Hogwarts walls, and it'd _worked_. CRT's, if you don't know, produce a ray of 'light' that is actually matter. On one side of a glass tube, there's a negatively charged wire and on the other a positive, and when turned on the ray of 'light' goes from one side to the other. If one holds a magnet to one side of the tube, the light bends toward or away, depending on the type of magnet.

Fascinating that it'd worked inside Hogwarts walls, I'd said – Hogwarts was supposed to stop all Muggle things from working. Mr. Snape (I was starting to think of him like that, now) had shaken his head vigorously and said that he thought it was because it was in a tube – the 'light' was in a vacuum and Hogwarts magic therefore couldn't react to it.

I was delighted. I love science-y stuff.

He returned from dinner scowling. He thrust a plate at me and snapped that I should remain in the wardrobe when he was not in the room – what if McGonagall had come in, or the House elves?

Well. Seemed like something happened at dinner.

I nodded, disappointed – I'd hope to continue our conversation. I returned to my wardrobe and ate in silence.

However, that night, before he went to sleep, I called out a "good night, Mr. Snape," which he returned, with what sounded like a smile.

--


	5. INCIDENT

**I n c i d e n t  
**

_(A show of power or anger by the captor: something the victim wants to avoid at all costs)_

Gradually, slowly, we became more civil to each other. I will not go into all of the little nuances, for they could fill a thousand books –the day he said good morning to me, the day I cleaned up his spilt ink, the night he brought me some desert with my dinner. Little tiny things, like a smile here and there. We grew used to each other. We weren't friends, exactly, but we could tolerate each other. And for Mr. Snape, that was a big thing.

It seemed that he had no idea what to call me, these days, I reflected with some amusement. He couldn't very well call me "Muggle" or "Girl" because we were civil to each other, and I think he genuinely liked the pleasantness of our few interactions. But my name seemed too informal, and I knew that he wouldn't suffer the indignity to ask me my last name.

And so he learned to bear me.

He would disappear sometimes, off to a Death Eater meeting, or an Order meeting. It was very strange – he still came back from the Order meetings battered and snarling at the world, but not from the Death Eater meetings. I would be terribly confused, but I would leave him alone at those times. I knew he would want no interactions. The most I would do, if he was particularly battered, would be to wet a towel and hand it to him, and then disappear before he could comment. I think this arrangement suited him.

And then of course there was that horrible toad Umbrige.

As I lived in his wardrobe, I was mostly sheltered from the school affairs. I knew what would happen anyway, and I knew that I didn't want to be a part of it.

But one day in early October, Mr. Snape entered his rooms in a whirlwind and exclaimed loudly, "No, Miss Umbrige, I do not believe we need to discuss it!"

I took the hint. I reached over and swiftly closed the wardrobe, leaving it just open enough for me to peek through the crack in the door.

"Oh, I think we do, professor," came the sickly sweet voice. I got my first look at her.

My jaw dropped. She looked exactly like my math teacher last year. Except, of course, my math teacher was very nice and didn't have that horrible grate-on-your-nerves voice. And I highly doubt that my math teacher would do anything crueler to a student than call them a funny name for making a stupid mistake. But the resemblance was striking. I briefly wondered if my teacher had an evil twin sister.

I watched.

"I need it, professor," she cooed. My skin prickled. She sounded like – I don't know, a snake charming a mouse, or something. It was scary. I reminded myself that she'd be attacked by centaurs, and it made me feel better.

"It will take me a month to make," Mr. Snape said unwillingly, "and, as you know, the ministry keeps a tight watch on—"

_Veritaserum, _my mind supplied as she interrupted.

"The ministry is taken care of," she murmured darkly. "I need it. Be as quick as you can." She flounced off, and as soon as the door closed I leaped out of the wardrobe.

"It's f-for Harry Potter," I blurted, "she's going to ask him about where the Order is, and w-where Black and Dumbledore are!"

Mr. Snape stared at me. "Dumbledore?" he asked. "He's still here."

"Not for l-long," I said darkly, "she'll r-run him out of the s-school." I probably shouldn't be telling him this, I thought frantically. Too late now.

"How? What will happen?" he asked urgently.

"Harry Potter w-will happen," I mumbled, realizing that I shouldn't tell him about the DA.

"_Potter _will run him out of the school?" Mr. Snape demanded, "you're not talking sense, girl!"

I ground my teeth in frustration. "If I t-tell you, you'll ch-change it," I said in frustration, "and that'll change the b-books and who n-knows how that'll affect this w-world?"

"A book can't affect a world," Mr. Snape spat. "Tell me now! If Dumbledore leaves, that _woman_ will be in control!" he said 'woman' like it was a curse. His eyes, I noted with alarm, also had a dangerous, calculating look about them. I wanted that look to go away. I didn't like that dark side of him that occasionally surfaced, that darkness which made me doubt him.

"I n-know that!" I cried, stuttering in my earnestness. "I r-read it, remember? But if I change it h-here, it'll be different in the b-books – what if that m-messes up the author? And if the author is c-confused, and not r-remembering writing this, then that m-might af-f-fect the rest of the series. It could r-result in the changing of the b-books, and that could change this w-world, in anything—even in—in—" I was searching, now, I needed something to convince him, and finally I blurted, "in your d-death!"

He paused, and stared at me. "You are right," he said, sounding surprised even as he said it. The dark look went away. I very nearly sighed in relief.

"She d-doesn't use it till much l-later, though," I said desperately, "my timeline's all m-mixed up – I d-don't remember it very well. It's been a few m-months since I've read it."

"When will she use it?" he demanded.

"Much, m-much later…" I murmured. I shut my eyes, trying to remember, to give myself a frame of reference… "On Valentine's day," I murmured to myself, "There's that whole awkward d-date-thing, and then the meeting with Skeeter…"

Mr. Snape scowled at me. "I don't need to hear about Potter's love-life!" he spat.

I ignored him. "After V-Valentine's Day," I said firmly, eyes still shut, "that's the closest a-approxim-m-mation I can give you. It's been a w-while since I read the book. "

He scowled at me as I opened my eyes. "Then why would she be asking for it now?" he growled.

"No idea," I sighed. "Maybe she just w-wants it."

He scowled, walked over and collapsed onto his chair. He snapped his fingers; a bottle of something that looked like liquor whizzed over to his hand. Wandless, wordless magic? My mind asked, isn't that only in fanfiction?

He looked stressed out. I sat on the arm of his chair. He glared, and, intimidated, I moved away. "Are y-you alright?" I asked.

"Fine," he spat and took a gulp of the liquor. I shuddered. I didn't want to know what he'd be like, drunk.

I needn't have feared it.

He didn't get really drunk; he wasn't babbling or slurring or anything, but it seemed like just enough to relax him. He demanded to know how many more times that woman would make his life hell. I'd asked him if he counted dinner in the Great Hall or just inspections, as I'd figured out that he must've had one of the latter. He'd smiled faintly into his glass and said "Both."

"Too many to c-count, then," I answered with a wry smile. "She's worse to Potter though. She seems to l-like you, though, for a while, I think."

He took a satisfaction in that, it seemed.

"Oh? And how does she make Potter's life hell, then?" he asked, smirking, and, wrinkling my nose, I launched into an explanation about that quill scene – you know the one, when the quill writes "I must not tell lies" on the back of his hand and in his blood. Mr. Snape seemed to recognize the device because he growled something about that being dark magic and how could the bitch get away with dark magic in Hogwarts castle? I'd shrugged and told him that I didn't know – but she did get attacked by centaurs in the end of the year, which was very amusing. He'd given a little snort at that and smirked. "Fitting," he'd said, "Very fitting."

We lapsed into a comfortable silence after that.

He sighed. "The books are from Potter's point of view, correct?" he asked, after a while. I nodded. He gave a slight sneer. "Why is it then that you do not hate me? Unless Potter has some strange fascination with me, which, if that is the case, I do not want to know."

I laughed softly. "No, he h-hates you alright," I smiled at him, "But he's an unreliable narrator, from m-my point of view. If you'll forgive me for saying s-so, you're frankly a more interesting character. Cloaked in shadow, and all that. C-cruel, but not evil, I don't think. A g-gray area. I can see your point of v-view of things a lot, despite what the narrator tells me." I winced and shut my mouth. Well, this was embarrassing. Best to stop there. He wouldn't want me knowing about the Occulmency scenes, which hadn't happened yet, but still.

He snorted into his drink. "Should I be flattered?" he asked dryly.

I grinned at him. "If you want. You've got a l-lot of f-fans, you know."

Mr. Snape blinked at me, as if surprised. "I have _fans_?" He demanded in disgust. I grinned at him, and raised my hand a little, jokingly.

"One's sitting right in f-front of you, Mr. Snape."

He looked at me in horror. "You're lucky I'm not one of the b-bolder ones," I said shyly to him, still smiling. "Or you'd've b-been… what's the word? Oh, yeah. G-glomped."

He looked absolutely horrified

I smiled at him. "Don't worry, they d-don't exist in this, uh, universe. They're in m-mine."

"Thank Merlin," he said dryly. He took another sip and eyed me warily. "You're bearable, though, thank the gods."

_Bearable_. I beamed at him. That's a high complement coming from him. He scowled at me.

"Not when you get like that, though!" he spat. He paused thoughtfully, and then, suddenly, looking a little dangerous, as he set down his glass.

"_Fans_." He said, slowly, and my brain clicked just before he said it. I knew I didn't want him to bring it up.

"Just 'cause I'm a f-fan, doesn't mean I h-have a _crush_ on you!" I squawked, eyes wide.

"Too hideous for that, eh?" he spat, glaring.

"_No,_" I said firmly, angry on his behalf, now. He actually wasn't that bad looking, to be honest. Yeah, his hair was greasy and his nose was big and his teeth were yellowish and crooked. I won't deny that. But he was clean, despite the grease; he didn't smell or anything, so he did bathe. And he had an overbite and some teeth overlapping each other, but it wasn't really that bad. His nose _was_ big, but…well, there's no real excuse I can think of. But he wasn't inhumanly hideous. He wasn't handsome, not by a long shot, but he was…striking, I suppose, a face you'll remember.

"You're not h-hideous," I told him firmly, "I tend to r-reserve crushes for real people. And now that I've met you, you're t-too old for me."

This was a complete and utter lie. I'd had the _biggest_ crush on him when he was a book character, but now that I'd met him, his sugar-coated-ness had gone and he was too real for me crush on. Which was strange, but then, so am I.

He seemed to accept that, and nodded slightly, sitting back into his chair. "Good," He'd said.

I leaned forward slightly, and changed the subject, to get rid of the slightly awkward silence that was descending. "Tell me more about this CRT you b-built," I said.

"Persistent little Muggle, aren't you?" he sneered.

I took it in stride. Usually I would be offended and hurt, but I suppose I was used to him by then. "It's N-Nerd," I said cheerfully, "The title is _Nerd_."

To my shock, he laughed at this. It was the first time I'd head him laugh. It was a short sound, and sharp and surprised; rather like Sirius' bark, I'd imagine, although he wouldn't be glad to hear it. It was a nice sound, though, and I smiled at the unexpectedness of it. I was glad to have made him laugh.

"Very well then," Mr. Snape said, still quirking a half-smile, "what is it you wish to know?"

"Have you ever t-tried it again?" I asked, "Ever tried to f-figure out why magic and electricity can't exist in one p-place? Or ever tried to build something with it? Aren't CRT's in c-computers, or something?"

He raised his eyebrows at me. "So many questions," he said dryly. "I wouldn't know what is in a computer – I was enveloped into the Wizarding world before they were invented."

I stared at him, startled. He wasn't… pure blooded? I'd always thought…

"Not every wizard in Slytherin is pure blooded!" he spat at me, reading the look on my face correctly. He was turning slightly red. Was he embarrassed, or angry, or both?

I shook my head. "No! Oh, no," I assured him, "you really think I'll j-judge you on that? Me, a Muggle? I'm not really one to t-talk, am I? I guess Harry Potter's always as-s-sumed… and, as the book's from his p-point of view… I m-mean, I know he's an un-unreliable n-narrator, but…" I was spluttering now, my sentences fragmenting and fraying under his hostile glare.

I looked at him timidly and asked, "Are y-you half-blooded, or…?"

"Half blooded, if you _must_ know," he growled, "my _father" _he said it like a curse, "was a Muggle, and my mother was the last of the Princes."

And here I noticed something. He shouldn't be giving this information so readily, if it was something he was ashamed of, and clearly he was. Why was he telling me, then? And how would I respond to it? I myself am half-Italian but that wasn't really the same.

I came up with a response, and said quietly, "Well, I'm all Muggle, so y-you've one upped me."

To my utter shock, he said, surprisingly gently, "You're not all Muggle. In this world, you're a prophetess, who knows what will happen, and is therefore very valuable."

I was shocked. He was being nice? After all that snapping and snarling? I smiled at him, thankful for the slight ego-boost.

He was extremely unpredictable. It was nearly impossible to guess what he was going to do. I liked that. I liked him. Not like _that,_ but when he was being nice, I really liked him. I decided then that I wanted to be more than bearable – I wanted to be his friend.

His clock chimed from somewhere. He had to go to dinner. Mr. Snape nodded at me, and I smiled back and he left. I went to sit in my wardrobe.

He didn't come back that night.

I heard him enter around five that morning, looking quite exhausted. I peeked out of the wardrobe.

"Are you alright?" I whispered, "You d-didn't come back—"

"Shut up and go back to sleep," he spat and slammed his bedroom door closed.

"But I'm h-hungry," I whispered miserably to myself. I shut my eyes, but try as I might, I couldn't go back to sleep.

He returned from breakfast with an unusually large platter for me, which I suppose was his way of apologizing for the lack-of-dinner. I was ravenous, and ate the apple turnover and croissant and fruit very quickly. I even ate the sausages, and I hate sausages. By the time I was done, he'd headed for his first period class.

I read one of his books on mythology afterwards. It was Native American mythology, I think.

When Mr. Snape came in the middle of the day with my lunch, as usual, he was snappish, as usual. So I didn't think anything of it. He didn't bring me dinner again.

Again I was up all night, hungry and uncomfortable. Again he came back around five, but this time he was limping.

And my brain went _click_.

There was a scene after Snape's evaluation – where Harry's scar starts hurting, and Voldemort is _furious_.

But, I thought, why is he limping? Did he visit the Order, afterward?

I opened my mouth to speak, peering out of my wardrobe, but then shut it quickly and without a sound. Mr. Snape was hissing something to a boy – a boy whom I recognized, despite the fact that the actor looked nothing like him. Draco Malfoy. I sunk back into my wardrobe, eyes wide. I didn't really fear Draco Malfoy – I thought of him, and still think of him as, not evil, exactly, but as a cruel bully. Like, how in Half Blood Prince he couldn't kill Dumbledore, because he's not cold blooded. He couldn't do it…

But my friend Severus could.

I'll get to that later.

"Watch where you step, idiot boy," Mr. Snape was hissing, "you think this is a game, but it's not—"

"I know what I'm doing!" Draco whisper-shouted back, "And don't call me an idiot!"

"Your father is _worried_, don't get involved just yet—"

"You sound like you're going to recruit me to the other side." Draco hissed accusingly. Mr. Snape went very still.

"The Dark Lord," he said very softly, "happens to trust me."

Warning bells went off in my head and I shrank farther into my wardrobe. That's what he told Moody-but-not in Book Four! I thought, only about Dumbledore and not Voldemort.

_Shit, _my terrified brain said, _shitshitshit…_

Stop it, I told myself. You're being ridiculous. This is _Snape_. You _trust_ him.

And I did. But that didn't make me any less scared.

"Go to bed," Mr. Snape sighed. "I need to get ready for class."

Draco Malfoy sneered and slipped off, back into the depth of the dungeon.

I pushed the door open slightly in concern for Mr. Snape. He strode over and wrenched the wardrobe door open, and I stared at him, startled, blinking stupidly in the light of his wand. He grasped me by the neck of my shirt.

"Did you foresee this?" he demanded harshly.

"Foresee what?" I yelped, afraid now, "What's happened? There's… he's angry," I babbled, "I n-know he's angry – s-something about the pr-prophesy – is it a-about the prophesy? B-but I told him th-the p-prophesy—"

"Silence!" he snapped. "You are useless," he growled and dropped me. I sniffed slightly and thought with dismay of how easily I was upset. I thought we were getting along so well, though…

"Of c-course I'm useless," I whispered, "I only know ev-everything Harry Potter knows, and people k-keep not telling him things, s-so…" I quickly dashed away the tears. I _hated_ being so sensitive, I thought tearfully.

Mr. Snape sneered at me. He waved his wand and breakfast appeared in front of me, and the wardrobe door slammed shut.

So much for civil conversations, I thought, and tried to keep myself from wailing. I glanced sadly at the Native American mythology book and quietly ate my breakfast, feeling very lonely. I went back to sleep after that, killing time.

---


	6. CARE

**C a r e **

_(Victim cares for and befriends the Captor) _

I grew bored during the day, because I couldn't bring myself to read his book. I read a bit of my _Odyssey _but I quickly tired of it, despite my love for Greek myths. I tried doodling, but I quickly tired of that, too. My mental brick walls evaporated as soon as I laid them down. I paced and wanted to scream. Then I sat on my bed and crumpled up a piece of paper and tossed it around. That kept me amused for a while, but it was short lived. I took a shower, although I was afraid someone would barge in, then washed my clothes, too; they were really gross. I laid them on the bare part of the floor in my wardrobe and wore the gray clothes Mr. Snape had made me. They were too big.

Still bored, I pulled out my bag and actually did some homework. I tried to translate some Latin, but it all came out as gibberish. Stupid Romans, I thought, frustrated, slamming the book shut. Can't even write in logical sentences.

I napped again to kill time.

Mr. Snape knocked on the door after some time, having brought me dinner (lunch had appeared before me by a spell). He stood before me awkwardly as I ate it. I'd never seen him awkward before. I paused from eating and looked expectantly up at him, being careful not to seem too hostile. He would pick a fight with me if I did not seem submissive, which was annoying, but I wanted to avoid a fight at all costs.

"I shouldn't've snapped at you earlier," he said sullenly, looking me dead in the eyes as if daring me to comment. I was shocked – he was apologizing?

I smiled faintly. "Thank you," I said.

"For what?" he snapped.

"You know." I gestured at him to illustrate my point, not wanting to say the word 'apologizing' to him. It might have been a sensitive topic.

He paused and his look softened a bit. "You are welcome." He looked at my damp clothes on the floor. "Why are they wet?" he demanded.

"W-washed them," I shrugged, "they were gross."

He snorted. "Indeed they were." Mr. Snape gestured with his wand; my clothes were suddenly dry. Then he tilted his head at me, like an inquisitive bird. "Those are too big on you." He nodded to the gray clothes he had made me, as if just noticing them now.

"B-better too big than too small." I tried not to look at him hopefully.

He snorted. Apparently I'd failed in the hiding-emotions department. So what else is new? With a wave of his wand, the clothes had shrunk, and fitted me comfortably. They had also, I noted with some surprise, turned green and black. I chuckled and joked, "I always look p-pasty in green."

"You think I would dress you in red?" he sneered, but there was a self-mocking quality to it, too. Now, that I understood.

"Never," I laughed. "Not r-red or yellow or blue. Amazing how wizards can be b-biased about _colors_."

He sat on an arm of one of his chairs, facing me. "It is rather foolish, isn't it?"

"Quite. I never realized that s-Slytherin has the only secondary color. That's a b-bit depressing."

Mr. Snape scoffed. "Green is a primary color of light, if not pigment."

"This is true," I acknowledged, grinning. "What's gotten you in such a g-good mood, if you don't mind my asking?"

He looked at me thoughtfully and then quirked a half-smile. "I suppose you'll know this already," he said, getting up and pulling a letter out of his pocket, "But Rubeus is alive."

_Rubeus? _I thought, and then shook myself. Oh, right. Rubeus Hagrid, keeper of grounds and keys at Hogwarts, I heard the actor's gravely voice say in my head. I didn't know Mr. Snape even got along with Hagrid.

"I didn't n-know you were friends," I said mildly, taking the letter and skimming it. I don't remember what it said word for word, but the basic idea of it was that Mr. Snape had been right, and thanks for the warning. It was vague, which was the point, I suppose, and after a second's thought I got it. He was right about the giants not helping, and the warning the Death Eaters going to attempt to persuade the same giants. It also had a PS saying that he found out that his mother had died years ago, and that he was alright, and thanks for feeding Fang.

"Of course you wouldn't," he said smugly, "Potter doesn't."

I snorted and handed him back the letter. "Because that'd go over _s-so_ well. Harry Potter tends to think of nearly all his teachers as cardboard boxes and n-not people." I shook my head. "I n-never understood that."

"It's alarming to know you're more mature than Potter," he said, accepting the letter and walking over to put in his desk drawer.

I beamed at the compliment. I knew better than to try to defend Harry to him, although I privately disagreed. I was less angry than Harry, which didn't make me more mature. Just more sheltered.

"M-mature in different areas, I guess. I've always felt sort of b-bad for him. Especially in this book. Then again, I sort of feel bad for e-everyone."

"Myself included?" Mr. Snape scoffed.

I grinned and teased, "Of course. Or, rather, I u-used to. I know now you've got l-little use and less desire for my p-pity." I smiled faintly at him, and was gratified by a satisfied gleam in his eye. I continued, "You know I've always l-liked you. Except m-maybe in book one, but I didn't realize that you weren't the flat character I thought you were."

"Book one? Potter's first year?"

"Yeah. With Quirrel."

"Quirrel. Emphasis on the first syllable, not the last." His tone was mocking, but not entirely cruel. Or maybe I was just used to him. I laughed.

"That one I n-know; there was a movie about the first book. I just refuse to conform." I grinned at him. "I like to keep my original image rather than see only the movie in my mind's eye. If I only saw the movie, I wouldn't've r-recognized you."

His eyes glinted. "Ah, yes. The actors. Am I horribly misrepresented?"

"Quite," I chuckled, "the w-wig is terrible. The real thing is much p-preferable."

"You're the only one that thinks so," was the dry response. I smiled.

"You should see the guy that p-plays Lupin," I grinned, "he has a _mustache_."

"The horror!" he drawled, voice deeply sarcastic. I laughed.

There was a comfortable silence.

He walked over to his desk and prepared some papers. Gladly, I emerged from my wardrobe and sat in one of his chairs. I glanced over to him. "Whose are th-those?" I asked, indicating the essays.

"Fifth years, actually," he said dryly. I walked over.

"I always w-wondered how they wrote essays without knowing how to structure one," I said mildly.

"Appalling, isn't it?" he said, looking like he heartily agreed. "Not a thesis among the lot. Except perhaps Granger's." He sneered over the name.

"Well, that's to b-be expected." I murmured, glancing over them.

Neville Longbottom, I read from the top, and glanced at his first paragraph and winced. I like Neville, but it _was_ rather appalling. His introduction was all choppy facts, and there was simply no transition from the intro to the first body, if you could even call it that. I have been taught that the thesis goes at the end of the introduction, but the last sentences were a detailed description of moonflowers. He didn't even say which potion he was writing about.

"That's just p-painful," I muttered.

"It's pathetic, is what it is," grouched Mr. Snape and slashed a nasty looking T on the top. Troll, I thought, poor Neville. He put the paper on the other side of the desk. No comments? I wondered, no saying where Neville went wrong?

I didn't mention it. I didn't want to make him angry, although I pitied Neville greatly.

Ron got a P and Harry did too, and with a smirk he gave Hermione an E. Draco got an E too and Crabbe and Goyle got E's as well. ("I didn't even expect them to write it," Mr. Snape had smirked at me, "so, yes, they Exceeded my Expectations." I'd rolled my eyes at him, trying not to laugh. I told him he was cruel. He thanked me.)

Harsh grader, I thought, though it wasn't a surprise. I guess they deserved it, though (excepting Crabbe, of course – Goyle was surprisingly articulate) – they'd have all gotten at most C's in an English class, excepting Hermione, who might've pulled off a B plus. Her thesis, while pretty good, was rather shaky. I suppose it comes of lack of practice.

I stood, walked back over to the armchairs in front of the fireplace and sat down, listening and occasionally chuckling as he commented on the idiocy of the students. His comments were nasty enough to make me nervous, but amusing enough for me to chuckle. _There_ was that wit, I thought; I'd been wondering where it went.

We both went to bed in high spirits that night, and it was he that told me to sleep well first.

-

Time passed sluggishly, like oozing mud. The days and nights blurred together, and Mr. Snape and I had a shaky truce, which I hoped was permanent. The pleasant night in October was followed by more easy conversations. He'd drilled me for information to take to Voldemort once, but again I don't remember what I told him. Mr. Snape was less moody towards me, as time passed, and from the slam of the door and the beat of his approaching step I could tell that he relaxed when he walked into his quarters, despite the fact that I was there.

I was surprised at how many times he wanted to talk, to vent and pace and curse his students and the staff and Albus-bloody-Dumbledore and that-cursed-woman to a sympathetic ear. And I think he in turn was surprised when I quipped back at his rants; I told him about some spoofs I had read when he was in a particularly bad mood. He was rather horrified at my description of the "Potter puppet pals," but chuckled openly when I told him about the first one, in which the puppet Snape kills puppet Harry and Ron.

It felt as though a long time had passed but when I look at timelines it must really have been a few days, two weeks at most, for he came back one day suppressing a smile. Recognizing his step, I peered out at him, and he broke into a grin. I stared. He was _grinning_. I felt my cheeks twitch in response.

"What h-happened?" I asked.

"Quidditch." He said. "Potter and the Weasley twins were banned for life, and their brooms confiscated. But then, you already knew that."

"Ah," I said, smiling at him. "Yes, the c-competition for Slytherin's gone now, eh?"

"Ravenclaw's not bad," he said, still grinning. He sat down on an armchair and I came over to sit in the other.

"Modest? You? N-never." His mood was affecting mine; I was beaming, and I felt it too, despite the fact that I felt bad for Harry. It was still nice to see Mr. Snape in such a good mood.

"Never indeed. We will win for sure this year, although we mustn't slack off."

"No," I said, "you shouldn't. I actually d-don't remember who wins."

"It will be Slytherin." He gestured and the fireplace ignited itself. There was a pause.

"Well," I smiled, "t-tell me about it." Guys like to talk, right? I thought to myself.

"You have already read it," he scoffed at me. "Unless you're too dense to remember."

Whoops. He's not an ordinary guy. Right then. But still… there was something in his voice…

"But only from Harry Potter's p-point of view," I countered, "about how angry he was. C'mon, it's been a w-while."

He sneered something about my poor memory, but relented and told the story. Mr. Snape is a great storyteller, and sometimes I wish the books are from his point of view. His recounting was spiced here and there with the sharpest of seasonings, and on occasion it was downright cruel, but there is no denying that it was funny. He mildly commented on Harry's brainless Gryffindor-ish-ness, that he didn't stop and think even to bother making a fist before he hit someone. He said something about the twins, too – something to do with each having half a brain; I don't fully remember the joke. But it was _so funny _I can't even express it. The halls echoed with my laughter, and Mr. Snape, whom I was starting to think of as Severus, was grinning even more.

"Yeah, s-see," I gasped, still giggling as he finished, "All I got was anger. You know, I'm not g-going to be able to re-read the book with a straight f-face anymore."

He just smirked at me.

He ate dinner in his room that night, with me. I don't quite remember what we talked about, but I remember it was enjoyable. He was in a very good mood, liberally sprinkling acid remarks all over his potion students. But, to my surprise, his caustic remarks never once touched me.

I couldn't even begin to tell you how delighted I was.

--


	7. REFUSE

**R e f u s e  
**

_(Victim refuses to be rescued)_

**-**

December started the next day, and with it came reports of how utterly pathetic the new Gryffindor team was, and how confident he was about the Slytherin one. But I was so glad to be on such good terms with Mr. Snape that I had forgotten something.

That night Snape was called unexpectedly away to a Death Eater meeting, and he simply vanished.

For a week.

I was worried out of my skull for him. I knew he couldn't die – he hadn't, in the books – but he was _gone_.

But the more pressing issue was the fact that I had no food. I had water, sure; he had a bathroom and a fully functioning sink. But I had absolutely no food.

At nights I couldn't sleep. I was starving, and I was all alone in the dark in a big, scary castle – even if it was Hogwarts – and no one knew I was here, and if I died, or was about to die, no one would know, no one could save me. I was terrified.

I tried to distract myself with _The Odyssey_. I read nearly half of it during that week, miserable and hungry though I was. I sat as still as I could, thinking to preserve energy. My body had fat preserves, right? I thought hysterically to myself one night, if I didn't move, I'd use less of them.

What if no one came to save me? What if Severus – here, in my terror, I had started to think of him by his first name – didn't come back?

But he _had_ to. He came back in the book.

It was around Friday that Fawkes showed up.

I woke up one morning and there he was, sitting at the edge of my open wardrobe, crooning softly to me. He was absolutely unmistakable and I recognized him instantly. He had these huge wings like an albatross but he was bright, bright red with a tail that reminded me of a quetzal. He was _beautiful, _and I, being the strange girl I am, told him so. He cooed in appreciation.

"Severus said I would find a girl in here, and she might like some food." An old man smiled at me from around one of Severus' chairs. He, too, was utterly unmistakable.

"Mr. D-Dumbledore!" I breathed, staring at him. Fawkes crooned softly from beside me. Hesitantly, I got out of the wardrobe.

"I—" I started, and then my eyes landed on the food Mr. Dumbledore had brought me.

I do not think you understand just how hungry I was. I practically lunged at the food, and had taken a huge bite out of a sandwich before pausing and looking at the white-bearded man. I swallowed.

He just smiled and gestured. "Eat, child."

I needed no more urging. I inhaled about three large sandwiches before slowing down and trying out the fruit. Dumbledore was smiling at me.

"Don't eat too much, you'll make yourself sick," he said gently. Fawkes, sitting beside me on the arm of the chair I had fallen into, rubbed his head against my shoulder.

"Severus tells me," Dumbledore continued as I slowed down, "that you are from a place where everything that goes on here is in a book. Is this true?"

Chills suddenly raced down my spine. I know, it was only Dumbledore, but there was something in his voice that frightened me.

There is no good and evil, I thought to myself, my private adaptation of Quirrel's speech in the first movie, only power, and how you use it. Dumbledore wanted to win this war, no matter the cost.

Harry never described this, but maybe it was because he trusted Dumbledore utterly. Maybe it was because Harry is a wizard. Maybe I had just spent so much time with Severus that he'd rubbed off on me. But as a Muggle, Dumbledore scared me. With Voldemort there had been frozen terror, but with Dumbledore, there was this underlying power that made my stomach knot uneasily.

He scared me and my mind flashed a reason to me that suddenly made perfect sense: Dumbledore's side wasn't good, either. Anyone reading this know US history? If you do, then you're familiar with the court case Plessey v. Ferguson, where the outcome was the clause "Separate but equal." I realized just then that that was what Dumbledore was fighting for: Segregation. Inequality. Voldemort was fighting for the same thing, just more pronounced and violent.

If either won, I thought, it still wouldn't help the Muggles. Ignorance, if Dumbledore won, or subordination and death if Voldemort did.

Lesser of two evils, I thought quickly. Dumbledore is the way, way lesser of two evils.

"Y-yes," I replied, not looking him in the eye. Legemency, remember.

The man smiled gently. I felt the power behind it. "Then you'll know that Arthur Weasley was bitten by Voldemort's snake."

My head shot up. "Stupid," I muttered to myself, "Of c-course." That's why Severus was missing; he was busy cleaning up the mess from both sides.

"Do you think," Dumbledore asked soothingly, and my heart started pounding, "You can tell me how Harry's dreams work?"

Oh. Dear.

Now here was a problem. If I told Dumbledore, he would know that Harry's dreams were planned by Voldemort, and Sirius would not die.

I could save his life.

I would also change the book, and who knows how that would turn out? I shivered.

"I—" I started, looking up. I met his blue eyes and then gave a little yelp of pure terror, scrambling back. Fawkes looked alarmed.

His eyes were warm, but there was a coolness behind that, something calm and calculated. I swear the man was not human. He was mortal, yes, but there was something very, very frightening about him.

"You've nothing to be afraid of," He said softly. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"You c-could change it," I babbled, "I don't know what would happen – you'd change the b-book and it would be b-bad and I don't know—"

"Hm," he murmured, "I see. But perhaps I could change it so that our side will win?"

I shook my head violently and came up with a lie. I have no idea how it got there, it was just like _bang_ and there it was. "Harry has t-to tell you," I blurted, not looking at him.

"Hmm," was all he said.

There was a silence. I ate some more fruit. I reflected hysterically on how much I liked strawberries.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said after a time, "we ought to bring you to Headquarters – more convenient, and certainly safer than the castle, wouldn't you say?"

He wanted me safely within his territory.

I was about to protest that I rather liked it here, thank you, but then remembered that it was Christmas, and that I didn't know where Severus would be.

I nodded shyly at Dumbledore, and he smiled and rose. I moved back to my wardrobe and began to gather my things.

I stuffed my _Odyssey_ in my bag as well as the various things I had taken out. I hunted for my calculator – the stupid thing always gets lost – and then found it under my mattress. I stuffed my extra clothes in, too. Finally, I zipped up my bag and grabbed my jacket.

Dumbledore was waiting.

I stepped out of the wardrobe and then looked back. This might be the last time I ever see it, I remember thinking to myself. I was Dumbledore's asset, now, and no longer in Severus' care.

"H-hang on," I said.

I'm a sort of sentimental person. I can't really help it. I took one of the candles Severus had given me in a fit of kindness and carefully put it in one of my pockets.

Dumbledore offered his hand, and I took it, and before I knew it we were whizzing through the Floo network.

We stumbled in through a fireplace. Or, rather, I stumbled, and Dumbledore landed. He helped me up.

"GET THE FILTHY MUGGLE OUT OF HERE!" someone howled, and I jumped about a mile. Dumbledore smiled at me and opened his mouth to explain.

"Don't b-bother," I muttered, "I know who it is."

And I did. The infamous Mrs. Black was screeching at me from the next room over. There was a loud _thunk_ as if someone had thrown something at the picture I knew to be there, and then about three softer _thunks_.

Like someone with a peg, rather than a leg. Moody, my mind whispered.

The door opened, and there he was. I tried hard not to gape.

I don't think Harry explained, to its fullest, how grotesque this man was. He didn't tell anyone about the huge scar around Moody's magical eye, so huge that the man didn't even have an eyebrow. One of his ears seemed deformed by the amount of scars on it. He was missing his nostril, and his mouth just looked like another scar. The magical eye was large and round and electric-blue, and it spun crazily, once, and then landed on me. I gulped. The brown eye, the normal one, landed on me, too.

He thunked over to us.

"So this is Snape's Muggle," he growled. Really, 'growled' is the only way to describe it. He sounded like a lion, or a tiger, like some huge predator.

I couldn't look at him. I was quaking in my sneakers.

The single eyebrow raised when I peeked at him, then looked down.

"No one's going to hurt you, here, Muggle," he growled again.

They could do me the courtesy of knowing my name, I thought grouchily. Then again, Severus didn't even call me by it, so I shouldn't've expected these people to know it.

"I know," I said softly. It was a mistake, because as soon as I opened my mouth I started babbling. "But, I m-mean there weren't any-any Muggles in the book and what-what if you try to control m-me or-or-or pump me for information and use it and change the b-book and then—and then—" I don't think that they got a word of that, because once I had started, I couldn't stop and like a runaway train I kept going faster and faster until I'm sure it was only gibberish spewing forth from my mouth.

"Calm down," Dumbledore soothed, "We only want to protect you, here."

I think they wanted to use me more than protect me. I closed my mouth, but didn't look at them. "W-where's Mr. Snape?" I asked quietly.

Moody huffed. "The Death Eater abandoned you, girl, and you still want to see him?"

My head snapped up and I _glared_ at him. Severus wasn't just a Death Eater. Well, no, he was one, but he was a spy – sort of – he was on the Order's side …sort of… and shouldn't he trust him? Dumbledore did! Then again, Voldemort did, too, and…

I was very confused. I wanted Severus to be the good guy, but the 'good guys,' now that I had met them, didn't seem so good to me. Dumbledore scared the living daylights out of me. Then again, Voldemort was scarier. I took a deep, steadying breath.

"Yes," I said softly and clearly.

"He hurt you," Moody growled, looking angry. "See, Albus? The man is a traitor! He didn't tell us about the girl and he hurt her, look, she's keeping up an act—"

"I am not!" I squawked.

"Don't interrupt me," Moody snapped at me. I shrank back. He sighed. "I apologize," he said gruffly, "I shouldn't've snapped at you. You've got nothing to be afraid of, here. You're _safe_, here."

I was safe with Severus, I wanted to say, he never tried to pump me for information unless he was going to a Death Eater mission, and then both he and I censored it so it wouldn't give away too much, so it wouldn't change the book, but would keep Voldemort happy…

I looked away from Moody. The man nodded. "We've prepared some rooms for her," he growled to Dumbledore, who must have gestured – I didn't see because I was studying my sneakers. Moody patted my shoulder. "Follow me, Muggle," he murmured, and then stumped away. I shifted my bag and followed.

---


	8. PERSPECTIVE

**P e r s p e c t i v e **  
_(Victim sees things from the Captor's perspective)_

-

He lead me past the picture of Mrs. Black, who shouted obscenities at me, and then up a flight of stairs, then down a long hallway with many closed doors. I assumed that this was where Harry and the others were staying. When we reached the end of the hallway, Moody reached up and tugged on a string; a trapdoor fell from the ceiling.

"Up you get, then," he growled.

I shivered. It was dark up there. "Are-are you going to—? " I didn't quite know what I was asking. What I meant to say was, "Don't leave me alone up there!"

Moody said nothing, but he gestured to the ladder. I blinked and then realized that he could not climb it because of his leg. I nodded meekly and ascended the ladder. Halfway up, I turned to him. "Did—did you clean it out? I-I'm not going to find anything creepy, or-or dangerous up there, am I?"

"Probably not," he growled. "We cleaned it. But there still might be something we missed…"

Chills shot straight down my spine. "I-I'm not a w-witch, I c-can't d-do anything ag-against any—anything…" I breathed quickly, shaking.

"_MOODY!_" a voice I recognized instantly thundered down the hallway, quick steps following. "Severus," I breathed, so grateful I used his first name.

"Get up there, girl, before I Levitate you," Moody said irritably. "I'll deal with Snape. You've got nothing to be afraid of—"

"I'm not afraid of him!" I said, without stuttering, thank the deities. I started to climb down.

"Get _up_ there!" Moody snapped. I heard Dumbledore call Severus' name from below. Mrs. Black began to shriek again.

"_There _you are," Severus said to me, walking down the corridor. "I was wondering where they were going to put you."

"Snape," Moody snarled. "I suggest you go and tell Albus why you were hiding such an asset, while I take care of our guest, here. Get up the ladder, Muggle girl," he added to me.

"Her _name_ happens to be Amanda," Severus growled, "and she is unarmed. There are no lights up there, and the attic has only been cleaned out once. The other rooms have been cleared at least three times."

I stared, and made sure to keep my mouth closed. He was defending me? And he _never_ called me by my first name!

"Surely it's better than a _wardrobe_," Moody sneered. "And at least she can be of use, now."

"She is no use to us dead," Severus snapped, "and she also cannot tell us everything."

"Dead?" snapped Moody, "You think we're going to _kill_ her?"

"B-boggarts," I whispered "Droxies. What else could be up there?"

"What?" demanded Moody.

"_Doxies_, you fool," snapped Snape, "she's only read books, and hasn't heard everything pronounced out loud. And she's right. She'll be staying with me, and not in that ridiculous attic."

_Yes!_ I thought, and hopped off the final rung of the ladder.

"_Dumbledore_ ordered it," Snapped Moody.

"Then we shall speak to Dumbledore," said Snape, "In the meanwhile—"

"Yes," said Dumbledore, coming up behind Snape, looking angry, "we shall."

I squeaked. He really did scare me.

Severus glanced at me. _Don't mess this up, _his eyes said. Or something to that effect. I never was really good at reading expressions. "Headmaster," Severus said, nodding slightly. Dumbledore, to my fright, looked furious.

"I think we ought to discuss this, Severus," he said firmly. The air seemed to waver around him, and I found it suddenly hard to breathe. "In _private_." He turned to Moody. "Make sure the attic is safe," he added.

I shivered, and then jumped, because a hand had, very lightly, almost timidly, landed on my shoulder. I blinked, but Severus had gone, followed Dumbledore back down the hall. He did not look back.

_Take his side, _I thought to myself, almost giddily, _and I'll be there forever. _

I really had made an ally, that day.

"Come," Moody growled. He gestured with his wand and levitated himself up into the attic, and then looked down at me and raised his single eyebrow. I swallowed, and then followed him up.

-

I don't know what happened between Dumbledore and Severus. I do know, however, that no one asked me my preference; no one took me aside and asked me, privately, what I wanted to do.

I wanted to stay with Severus, because I knew him and I trusted him and he was, I thought, my friend. He didn't make me give information that I was unwilling to give. As I stood I in the attic, and as Moody swept through the great square-shaped room (Too big, I thought, too many corners for things to hide in; I wanted something small… like a wardrobe) he pumped me for information. He didn't ask me about how Snape had treated me. He asked me what information I'd given, what I'd not given, and what was to come.

I'd told him what I'd told Severus to tell Voldemort, but I didn't tell him anything else. He got frustrated, and shouted at me, demanding to know if I cared if they won the war or not.

I was reduced to a quivering mass of terrified jelly in no time. But I didn't tell him anything.

Moody apologized. He sighed, came over, and touched my shoulder. "We want to win this war," he told me softly, "We want to stop You-Know-Who."

"I-I-I n-know," I stuttered in response, shying away from his touch. "B-b-but I c-can't change any-anything."

He scowled at me, snarled something under his breath, and left.

He took the light with him.

I gave a little moan. I'm afraid of the dark.

It was about an hour later that I learned something very important about Severus. An hour later, when the trap door was wrenched open and he, Dumbledore, a reluctant Moody and someone I didn't recognize (Shacklebolt?) were standing at the bottom.

Severus is very selfish. He is also very, _very_ possessive over what is his. And he doesn't like to share.

I swear there was smoke coming out of his ears. He looked furious.

"Amanda," he said, firmly. "Come."

I was down that ladder before you could say "Thank you."

He took me by the shoulders and steered me down the hall. He said something to Dumbledore, but I was too grateful to hear. He opened a door with a wave of his wand, pushed me inside, followed, and then slammed it closed.

"Bloody dunderheads," he growled. He was breathing very hard, I noticed. Wheezing, almost.

"Are you alright?" I asked, quietly.

He rubbed his chest. "Yes," he said shortly. He didn't appear to know what to do. He looked around the room. There was a bed and a bathroom, a wardrobe and another door, which he opened to reveal another room, much like the one we were in. "This is yours," he added.

"Thank you," I said, small but heartfelt. "I'm—I'm afraid of the dark."

"I know," was the short response.

We were quiet for a second. He was still wheezing.

"Sev-Severus?" I asked, concerned about his breathing and trying out his first name. He glanced at me, and rubbed his chest again.

"Moody has a temper," Was all he said.

I glared at nothing in particular. "But you're on his s-side!" I snapped.

He raised his eyebrows at me.

"…Sort of," I amended. He snorted, slightly. "Well," I added, angry for his sake, "they're not really going to get you to help by hurting you all the time. Is that why you always come back bleeding?" I kept my voice frank. I knew by now he would not accept concern. I always pretended not to notice.

"Yes," was the short reply. He went and sat on the corner of the bed.

"D-do the Death Eaters…?" I asked timidly.

"Rarely."

There was a silence.

I sighed, after a while, and went to the other room and dropped my bag on the bed. I turned back at him. He was not facing me.

"Thank you," I repeated, quietly. "For—everything."

He turned. "Everything?" he sounded incredulous.

You never once took me before Voldemort, I wanted to say. You hid me from Dumbledore, who scares me. You didn't force me to reveal too much information; you never put me in that moral dilemma. I want to save Sirius, but changing the books could be bad. You haven't made me make that choice. I never had to choose sides; you kept me out of the line of fire.

"Yes," was all I said.

He stared at me for a while, as if he'd never seen anything quite like me. Then he got up, and left the room.

I heard Moody shouting from somewhere, and Dumbledore's soothing voice. Severus slammed a door somewhere – he slams it in such a way that it reverberates just so.

And I was alone. But it wasn't dark.

I pulled out my _Odyssey_, and read.

-

I didn't know, about a day or so later, that it was Christmas, until I found a small package by the one of the legs of my bed. It was wrapped in green and silver, of course, and contained a small card that made the holiday obvious.

I remember thinking, "It's December? Huh," and then opening the package.

Remember the necklace I mentioned in the beginning? The one with the vial, and the snake?

That's what was inside. I was absolutely floored.

I put it on, even though I was already wearing the oak leaf necklace I'd brought from home. The one with the vial was longer, though, so they didn't really tangle.

The only one who knew I was here, who presumably thought of me as a person rather than a useful Muggle, was Severus.

But I didn't have anything for him.

I rooted through my bag, but couldn't find anything worth giving to him. I thought, for a while, to give him a violently red pen (for grading and insulting students, of course,) but it didn't really match up.

I mean – a necklace! And it was so beautiful, too. I couldn't decide whether I wanted to take it off to look at it, or to just stop obsessing and wear it. But I was amazed – the tiny snake was crafted beautifully, and even had individual scales and eyes. And what could one put in a vial so small?

Severus caught me sitting on my bed, pooling the chain in my palm, and counting the scales on the tiny snake. I looked up at him and beamed.

He seemed embarrassed. Severus handed me a plate full of food, muttered something like "Courtesy of Mrs. Weasley," before dodging out of the room.

I made to follow him, but I was too late – he was already out the door.

I blinked at the closed door and smiled. He was – gasp, shock and awe – _sweet_.

I couldn't think of anything to give him. Which was, you know, bad. Contemplatively, I ate my breakfast, even though I didn't like sausages, and wondered what on earth I could do for him.

Upon finishing my breakfast, I slipped off the bed and started rooting through my bag. Five binders, my _Odyssey_, gym clothes, the clothes Severus'd given me, the candle Severus'd given me, my two flashlights, my graphing calculator, my science calculator, my emergency-keychain-oh-crap-I-don't-have-my-calculator calculator, my Latin book, several zillion pens and pencils and erasers and eight dollars and seventy-five cents in a small money pouch thing. I sat back, my crap all around me, and stared at it for a while.

"_What _are you doing?" Severus demanded, and I yelped, leaping ten feet in the air. He smirked and arched an eyebrow. So much for being awkward, I thought with an internal smile.

"You _s-scared_ me!" I said indigently, smiling at him. His smirk softened a bit.

"You told me once that I was the scariest teacher in Hogwarts," he drawled.

"You're n-not _my_ teacher," I told him dryly, leaning against the foot of my bed. I gestured to it. "Sit."

"Now I take orders from _you_?" he sneered, but sat on the bed anyway.

"Probably not." I smiled up at him, and played with the necklace. "I never got to thank you."

He looked startled and then he looked ready to bolt again. I spoke quickly, before he could move.

"But I have n-nothing for you." I gestured at my stuff. "This is all I have. Uh, I m-mean, if you want anything, then just take it, I mean—" Severus shook his head at me, then hastily patted my shoulder. "It's alright," he said, looking deeply, deeply embarrassed, and, by the way he straightened I could tell that something acidic and cruel was going to come out of his mouth. I readied myself.

There was a moment of awkward silence. I relaxed.

"Everyone is out visiting Arthur Weasley," Severus said suddenly, awkwardly. "If you wish to see the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black?" he sneered over the name, and I grinned at him, pushing my stuff in a pile.

"That'd be great!"

He sneered at my pile. "Bit of a slob, aren't we?"

It rolled off me like water off a duck's back. I gave myself mental pats on the back for not being upset. "Nuh," I answered, standing, offering a hand to help him stand as well and unsurprised when he ignored it, "I'd be a slob if I c-couldn't find anything. Thing is, everything is exactly where it's supposed to be. On the floor."

He snorted, smirking at me. "Most things go on a desk."

I knew better than to tease him about the messy state of _his_ desk. Instead I said, "Desks are overrated," and follow him out of the room.

I felt the change. Our conversation was easier than before, and Severus seemed to regard me better than he had. And I knew why it changed, too. It wasn't because he suddenly decided that I was his bestest friend and it'd be butterflies and rainbows from there. That was far from it. It was because Severus is a very, very selfish man, who had grown used to me being there. When Dumbledore had attempted to take me from him, it had flipped a switch in his brain. Nothing belonged to Severus until someone tried to take it away, because everything important in his life had been stolen from him. When Dumbledore tried to put me in the attic, I had switched categories in his brain; I'd gone from "Irritating, But Tolerable," to "Important, and **Mine**."

And Severus is very, very possessive of what is his.

And me? I'd taken full advantage of him being nice to me. Because being in the "Mine" category, he'd opened up to me, a little. I could, officially, hurt him now. And if I did that, even a little bit, even just teasing him, it'd be right back to open hostility. He was testing the waters, so to speak. Seeing if I was fit to go into the next category, which was "Safe." I don't think anyone, except the owl he had and maybe, briefly, Draco, was in the "Safe" category. Draco, though, had grown up, and done or said something cruel to Severus, or maybe even just teased him, and transferred himself out of "Safe" and back into "Mine."

Or, well, I think so anyway. This is all just sort of guesswork. What else do you think I did, sitting alone on a room or a wardrobe all day? I translated Latin, read, and psychoanalyzed Severus.

Have I mentioned that the man is extremely high-maintenance? No? Well, I should've.

Anyway.

He showed me around Grimmald Place, which was huge. We snuck past the sleeping portrait of Mrs. Black, and he showed me through several rooms, explaining this or that. At one point, something small, black and evil-looking dragged itself across the floor, and Severus picked it up by its broken wings, identified it as a Doxie ("No_ r_, you imbecile,") and vaporized it. I was a bit uneasy by the harsh treatment of the creature, but he sneered and told me it was venomous, and, since I was a Muggle, it could probably kill me. I told him that that was not the creature's fault. He sneered and reminded me that all the animals were _not_ my friends. I told him that I didn't get that memo, and he let loose one of his surprising, hooting laughs. I almost forgot, on our stroll around the manor, that it was a holiday. That is, until we walked past the tree. Severus must have noticed that I was quieter after that, but he didn't comment.

It wasn't an awful Christmas, all in all, but I still missed my family. I thought wistfully of the tree that I'd've decorated with my friends a month ago, about the family reunion we always had on Christmas day, just after opening presents. I thought about my uncle's cooking and my cousin's laughter.

I missed them. I missed my mom and dad, I missed my friends. Maybe Severus picked up on that, I dunno. Or maybe he just guessed I was thinking about home, because, as the front door swung open, emitting the Weasleys and Harry, as Severus ushered me into my room to hide me from them, he touched my shoulder, briefly. Physical contact was rare with him, so I smiled wanly, and he quirked his lips in response before sweeping out.

And that was that. I sat for the remainder of the afternoon, playing with my new necklace, until someone knocked on my door. When I opened it, I saw no one, but my dinner was on the ground. I wondered about Kreacher for a moment, but then realized that Sirius must've already kicked him out. I picked up the plate and carried it inside.

It was very good – turkey with some sort of sweet glaze. I ate as much of it as I could, but it was very filling. It was excellent.

To my great surprise, one Molly Weasley opened my door soon after I finished dinner. She was instantly recognizable, with bright red hair and a big smile, slightly overweight.

"Hello, dear," she said. I liked her instantly. Finally, someone I liked!

I looked awkwardly at her. "Um," I said eloquently, eyeing the plate in her hand, a plate that happened to hold something that vaguely resembled ice cream, "Hi?"

She gestured at the plate and said, "I know I shouldn't be seeing you here, but it's simply terrible for anyone to eat alone – especially at Christmas! I thought you might like some desert." She offered me the plate.

I hadn't had ice cream in ages. I beamed at her. "Thanks!" I said, taking it carefully.

Vanilla with chocolate fudge. My favorite. She smiled. "You're welcome, dear. Now, I know better than to ask you anything, and we've been told specifically not to see you or mention you to Harry, but…" she shifted uneasily, and a shiver shot down my spine. I looked at her, wide eyed. But I knew what she was asking. She wanted to know if any of her family would die.

"The books aren't f-finished," I muttered, looking down at my ice cream, "So I don't know." I didn't want to hurt her, but I suspected and still do suspect that some of the Weasley clan will die. This realization hurt a bit, because, upon meeting her, I realized that these were indeed people – at least, in that universe they were, and their deaths would be real, and not just a thing in a book. It's sad, but there are so many Weasleys, something is bound to happen… "I—" I murmured, "I can't—"

She swiped at her eyes. "I know, dear. It's alright." Then the bright smile was right back in place. "Thank you, though. Now, eat up. You're terribly thin."

Severus would've made a cutting remark at her for that comment, something about how she was not. It was a relief to not have to worry about his sarcasm. I smiled back at her. "I will. Thank you again. Severus only rarely brings me something sweet to eat."

An eyebrow shot up. "'Severus?'" she asked.

I shrugged. "I've been living with him for a few m-months, kinda strange to call him by his l-last name… he's not objected."

She gave me a long, hard look. I looked back, slightly confused.

"If he's hurt you," she told me softly, "you can tell me. I can help—"

"Hurt," I realized in about three seconds, was a euphemism for "rape." I was startled.

"He wouldn't," I shook my head at her, "Really." I wasn't lying. I trusted him. I also knew him. He wasn't a very physical person. He'd never, in the months I'd lived with him, invaded my personal space. He'd never even stuck his head inside my wardrobe, and the only time he'd touched me and frightened me was to yank me out once. But that was only once, and he hadn't hurt me. He'd only touched me on the shoulder today, and that was only after he'd decided that I was his property, thank you, and he wasn't sharing me with Dumbledore. Besides, I was the same age as some of his students, and I said so. She nodded slowly.

"You'll have to forgive me. He's very hard to trust. Why did you want to stay with him? He isn't very nice," Mrs. Weasley murmured.

"I trust him," I shrugged. "He's kept my out of the line of f-fire. He's prevented me from worrying about what I can and can't say. He's _helped_ me."

She nodded slowly. "I suppose when you put it that way… well, anyway, I must be getting back. Enjoy your ice cream."

"T-thanks again," I smiled, and she left.

She'd gone pretty fast when I'd defended Severus. I wondered why.

The ice cream was delicious, obviously home made, the fudge too. I enjoyed it immensely, but didn't know what to do with the plate. I rinsed it in my bathroom sink and left it there. Then I read my _Odyssey_ until I went to sleep. I was almost finished with it.

---


	9. DEFEND

**D e f e n d**

_(Victim defends the Captor)_

It was three days later that Dumbledore called Severus in for a meeting. He'd come up to see me before he saw Dumbledore, knocking sharply on the door.

"Are you decent?" he demanded, and then muttered, "are you even _awake_?"

I opened the door and grinned at him, happy to see him. If I was a physical sort of person, I'd've hugged him, but I'm not, so I just beamed at him. "Yeah. And hi!"

"Ah, my faithful Muggle dog," he sneered at my happy expression, striding in as I stepped aside. But I knew him by now – that wasn't a real sneer. That was about as close to teasing as Severus could get. He pulled a chair out from under the desk and sat on it.

"Woof!" I said and grinned. "But I'm not a d-dog. I don't even _know_ Black."

He snorted. "I should hope not. He's far too stupid for you to associate with."

I grinned at the rather poorly hidden complement, but couldn't stop the faint pang that I felt. One shouldn't insult the dead. Or the going-to-die, at least. I quickly made light of it.

"Really? I thought I'm al-already an imbecile."

"Yes. But he'd be a bad influence on you." Severus was almost smiling now. I'd _missed_ him, I thought.

"It's far too l-late for that," I said seriously.

Now he did smile. But he was quiet for a moment, before, "They're treating you well, here?" His voice was a bit strained.

He misses me, I thought.

"Well enough," I answered, "Well enough. Although 's w-weird being alone all the time."

"You're not frightened?" he asked, giving me a hard look. "They give you enough food?"

"Sometimes at n-night," I answered truthfully, "but I'm just a coward. And I get plenty to eat. Mrs. Weasley's cooking – I'm assuming it's her? – is amazing."

"You're not a coward," Severus told me firmly. "You fooled the strongest wizard of our time. And I'll tell Dumbledore to do something for you to feel safer."

I beamed at him, but then I remembered the date, and why he must have been here. Warning bells went off in my head. _December, _I thought, _Occulmency. _I should warn him, I thought.

"What?" he was too observant for his own good. He must've seen the look on my face.

"You're—m-meeting with Dumbledore?" I asked hesitantly.

Severus rose an isn't-it-obvious eyebrow. I swallowed and shifted around in my seat. After a moment, he growled, "Out with it, girl."

"Don't—don't shoot the messenger," I started slowly, "b-but I think I should w-warn you," I stuttered nervously. Severus scowled.

"You _know_ I'm not going to harm you, girl," he growled, in reference to my stuttering. I rolled my eyes.

"I c-can't help it," I said flatly. "Any-anyway. About why he w-wants to meet w-with you…"

"You know? Out with it!" he said, sitting forward. I swallowed.

"He w-wants you to teach h-Harry Potter Oc-Occlumency," I told him in a rush, "Don't g-get mad it me, it's not m-my idea! I-I-I—"

He glared at me and I wilted slightly.

"_Will_ I end up teaching him Occlumency?" he asked softly.

There is no reason to be afraid of him, I told myself. He's you're _friend_. But that tone he used was very frightening.

I looked down. "Yes. You'll store the-the stuff you d-don't want him seeing in a Pensive."

"Pens_ieve_. Emphasis on the second syllable." He said it like it was second nature, by now. "Will—"

"I-I-I-I c-can't—" I stuttered. I couldn't tell him about Harry breaking into Pensieve. I couldn't. It would not only upset him, but it would also prevent it from happening, because Severus is a very cautious man, and if he knew of the incident beforehand, he'd prevent it.

"Oh? Something important happens?" he asked softly.

I nodded. "I'm sorry," I whispered.

His voice, surprisingly, gentled. "I shall not ask," he told me quietly. I gave him a startled, grateful look. "It is not your fault. Thank you for telling me."

He thanked me? I gave him an even more grateful look. "You're welcome," I said, meaning it. "I just-just thought you might like a warning. I advise you to b-blow up at Dumbledore."

"I," he told me, standing, "will do just that." He walked to the door. "I shall see you later, Amanda."

I nodded and smiled at him. "You too, Severus."

The door closed, and I waited.

Three minutes later, I heard Severus shouting, and smiled faintly to myself. Mrs. Black awoke and added to the racket.

And I realized, then, that he, in forgiving me, in not getting angry with my about the message I relayed, was accepting me in a strange sort of way. Maybe the category was not only "Mine," maybe it was "Things To Be Protected."

It wasn't all that comforting that I shared a category with Draco Malfoy. Then again, it wasn't like the kid was evil, or anything – just something of a delinquent.

Severus' shouts were soon drowned out by Mrs. Black's, and then finally she stopped yelling, too. I'd picked up my _Odyssey_ again, noting with dismay that I'd almost finished it.

Maybe I'd borrow Severus' copy of _The Iliad_ next, I thought idly to myself, staring at the book's pages, not really seeing them.

I doodled a demented sock-puppet dragon on the corner of the page, and reflected on how pathetic my drawing was.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when Severus burst into the door, dragging an oldish woman behind him. I blinked stupidly at them.

"You look, Minerva!" Severus bellowed, and I stared. He'd never been this mad at me before, I thought. I wondered what she'd said. "You look! If you sentence her to death, I want you to look at her first!"

Sentence me to _death? _I stared at them, wide-eyed. What was going on? "D-death?" I squeaked.

McGonagall spoke over me. "It's not death, Severus – it leads to another world! It might send her back!"

"It might _kill_ her," Severus spat. "You look on your guinea pig, Minerva, before you kill it." he turned to me. "Amanda, this is Minerva McGonagall, and she wants to push you through the Veil at the Department of Mysteries."

"She doesn't know what that is," Hissed McGonagall.

"It's not polite to talk about someone when they're in the room," Severus sneered, "Is it, Amanda?"

He'd put me on the spot. I stared at him, wide eyed. "Uh, uh, uh," I stuttered. I was scared. Severus was furious. I didn't want that wrath directed at me, but at the same time, I didn't really want to be killed.

"P-Porky Pig, I'd forgotten," he sneered at me.

_Ouch._ Okay, that one stung a bit. Shake it off, I thought to myself. He was really nice earlier; he doesn't mean it. Shake it off.

Thinking that made it a bit worse. Oh, you're impossible, I thought to myself. Relax, for crying out loud. Would he harm you?

No. No he would not. And he was just mean. His tongue had a barb on it, or something. But it wasn't poisonous. Relax.

That helped a bit.

"Pigs?" McGonagall demanded.

"I l-like Sylvester better, really," I muttered.

Severus shot me a look that was half irritated, half amused. McGonagall looked frustrated. "What _are_ you two on about?" she demanded.

"Idiotic, puerile things," he sneered. "The more pressing issue is this: Amanda, do you know what the Veil is?"

"_Severus_," McGonagall hissed, and Dumbledore walked in.

"Severus, stop this this instant. You are acting like a fool," he said firmly.

"_Amanda,_" Severus demanded.

"Yes," I said, loudly, careful so I wouldn't stutter, encouraged by the almost supportive, urgent look he gave me, "Yes, I know what the Veil at the Department of Mysteries is."

Dumbledore and McGonagall stared at me, shocked into silence.

"And—" I added, quietly, "and I'd rather not die, thanks."

Severus looked – _proud_. See? His body posture said, see, someone _is_ on my side.

It was almost sad, how happy he was that I'd taken his side in front of other people. But I quashed that emotion. As I had told him earlier, he had little use and less desire for my pity.

"You will not die," Dumbledore said, firmly, "it will send you back. Don't you want to go back?"

I looked sadly at Severus, who deflated a little. He knew the answer to that as well as I did, and even for his sake this was one thing I would not lie about. Severus was my friend, but this world, while it was fun to read about, was terrible to live in, especially if I was helpless. "Y-yes," I said, "Yes, I do."

"Someone let something slip," McGonagall told me in her stern voice, "the Minister is getting suspicious. Umbridge," she sneered over the word, "Has checked Severus' and my rooms twice each. You are safe here, but you must leave. You-Know-Who's demands are getting more taxing as well, I understand," here she glanced at Severus. He nodded, shortly.

Here was something new. I looked at him, concerned. Severus'd said that he was rarely beaten up by Death Eaters, but rarely was more than never… had he lied?

He looked away.

"Tell them D-Dumbledore stole me," I said to Severus, softly.

"You think they would accept that?" he sneered. I gave a one shouldered shrug.

"W-worth a shot," I muttered, scowling at myself as I stuttered again.

"It's agreed, then," Dumbledore said, firmly. "The only way to get her back quickly is through the Veil. We do not have time to find anything else; she must leave before this year's end."

"Who ever said that?" Demanded Severus.

"Sybil gave another prediction," Dumbledore said darkly, "or, rather – a warning. It was yesterday. You were right, Severus – Amanda mustn't give away what is to come. According to Sybil's prophesy, it could prove disastrous."

"How so?" asked McGonagall.

"'Melding,' she called it," Dumbledore said softly, "Sybil said that, should something be given away here, the book would change and so would Amanda's memory. The human mind is a curious thing. Should the book change, it would change as her mind wills it, as she is the only one from the universe in which this is a book here in our universe. Her mind might weld this universe to another book she has read, not only causing problems with plagiarism in her time," he smiled, but it was hollow, "but also confusing us immensely."

My eyes widened. Severus and McGonagall looked at me in astonishment. I guess I wasn't just a Muggle to them any longer. I had the power to change this world – I could weld it with others if I messed up the book.

Well, it made sense. And I rather like crossovers – but, I thought, I would not want to live one. Plots are about bad things happening, and one bad thing was enough for me. With a crossover, there'd be two plots. That could get confusing and dangerous.

And I really, really did not want to die.

"Which means," Severus said almost reluctantly, "she must leave as soon as possible."

"Yes," Said Dumbledore, "through the Veil."

"Do we even know if it will take her home?" Severus demanded. "The Veil, I was lead to believe, is Death."

I shivered. I'd thought that, too.

McGonagall had a look on her face which said she'd been told that as well.

"Not death," Dumbledore murmured, "Somewhere Different."

"What, so she'll end up in Narnia?" Sneered Severus.

Dumbledore's eyes suddenly twinkled. "Wouldn't that be marvelous?"

"N-not really," I muttered, but it seemed that the only one who heard me was Severus.

"Really, Albus," McGonagall said chidingly.

This was a great experiment for them, I thought to myself uneasily. _Let's test things on the Muggle from another world!_ I mean, not only was I a Muggle, but I wasn't even the right kind of Muggle. I was like lower than low to these people. A tool, an experiment.

I felt suddenly very miserable.

Severus was quietly fuming at my side. I glanced up at him, but a chill ran down my spine.

He doesn't want me to leave, I thought. He wants me to stay. Because everything he's ever liked, or – or enjoyed has been taken from him.

I think he might've had friends before me. And I mean real friends, not the manipulative, nasty kind. When he was a kid, I think. Young.

I think his mother would not let him associate with them.

And I don't think that, later, his friends at school – if he had any, which I somehow doubt (pensive scene, book five – no one but Lily comes to his defense) – were very kind to him.

So that made me unique to him, that I was nice to him and did not expect him to do anything for me, or change himself. And I think, I genuinely think, that he liked that.

Or maybe it was because I was submissive to him. Maybe he liked being in charge, for once.

Whatever the reason, he did not want to see me go. And I would miss him, after I'd left – but I really, really did wish to leave.

But McGonagall set a date, when she'd sneak me to the Department of Mysteries and let me walk through the Veil.

I was terrified.

Severus saw it in my face. He fought, tooth and nail, against the idea, in my defense. It was oddly comforting, that he cared whether I died, or that I was scared. In the end, he was overruled, but he stubbornly demanded to come with McGonagall and me, when I left.

I jumped on the idea. I wanted a familiar face with me.

---


	10. BOND

**B o n d**

_(Victim bonds_ _emotionally with the captor)_

Severus actually stayed with me. I know he wasn't in Grimmald place during the holidays in the books – but that house was so big he could easily avoid everyone.

He took me to the Blacks' library, where he read for a bit. I browsed the shelves.

I'd found myself, suddenly, unwilling to finish my _Odyssey_. It'd marked the passage of time, the time in which I'd stayed in Harry Potter-land. If I finished it, it would mean the day I had to leave would come sooner.

I did not, however, want to stay. I wanted to go home, very badly, but I was deathly scared to go through the Veil. And I felt bad for leaving Severus behind.

I was terribly mixed up and confused. But time has a way of passing, unnoticed until it is too late. The day I had to leave, three days after the discussion, dawned bright and cold. Severus woke me with a finger jabbed in my side.

"Amanda," he said, and I jumped a mile, staring at him with startled, sleepy eyes. I'd forgotten the day. "W'ut?" I mumbled. He scowled.

"Today's the big day," he mocked, and I remembered. I swallowed, staring uneasily at him, and the ridicule in his eyes died down. He sat gently, almost awkwardly, on my bed.

"I'm—" I started uneasily. He touched my shoulder.

"I know," he said quietly. Then, because it was too close for comfort for him, he sneered, "Coward."

I smiled faintly. "Yeah, but I'm a-alive."

His eyes gleamed. "Spoken like a true Slytherin."

I scoffed. "Slytherin? R-Ravenclaw, I'd like to hope. Or maybe Hufflepuff."

"Hufflepuff," Severus said, but there was no ridicule in his voice. "Loyal," he continued, and, eyes dropping, he played with my blanket. "Kind."

I sat up and smiled at him. I knew better then to thank him. We sat there for a very long time, his eyes never meeting mine.

"Be careful," I said, suddenly. He looked up, questioningly.

"Be careful," I repeated. "I'll – I'll be r-reading after you," I smiled. "Worrying, too."

"I am very unlikely to emerge alive from this war," he told me flatly.

"You're smart," I said quietly. "You'll make it." He just had to, I thought. He couldn't die, he needed his happily-ever-after, although he was unlikely to get it. I hoped he'd get a content-but-I'm-still-mean-ever-after, at least. That was what I really wanted.

He stared at me, long and hard. "You really believe that," he muttered, after a moment. "You really—"

"Unconditionally," I told him firmly. I had total faith in him, and not just faith that he'd live. I believed in him, as corny as that sounds, and I loved him. Not like _that_, but something different. I _understood_ him, and that takes a kind of love.

He swallowed and looked down. "Thank you," he murmured, and rose. When he reached the door he said harshly, "You have two hours," and left.

I was dressed and packed in moments.

I'd hoped to spend the time with him, but he had errands to run. So I sat in my room, looking around, memorizing it. I stole a silver candle holder, because I am sentimental and because I doubted Black would care. And in my final two hours in the magical world, I finished my _Odyssey_, feeling that I had to, feeling that it was symbolic.

Odysseus was home and the suitors for his wife were slain, and all was well once more. When McGonagall entered, I thought that it was time that I, too, went home.

I was sad, but I was ready. Severus entered moments later, and we went outside and Apparited.

I was sort of in a daze. I saw nothing but the sunlight when we were outside, and then nothing but that darkness when we were in the ministry. The inside of the building was very dark, which Harry never mentioned, but I was so dazed with the fact that I was going home, with the terror that it might not work and that I might die, that I didn't notice much.

McGonagall snuck us into the Department of Mysteries with little to no trouble. I don't remember how she did it.

The spinning room is very nearly gone from my memory. I remember it spun once, like a turntable, and we walked through the door before us. I remember Severus' hand on my shoulder and I remember walking into the room with the two of them. I remember McGonagall pointing at the veil, and I remember that it fluttered and was dark but for once, something magical was not frightening. Harry never mentioned how the veil radiated comfort and, for me at least, it radiated home.

I remember McGonagall stepped away from me, and told me something, but I do not remember what she said.

The veil had put me in a kind of trance, I think. It called to me, it pulled me. The world faded out, and I stepped away from Severus' hand on my shoulder and towards the gently hypnotizing black cloth.

But the loss of the warmth on my shoulder jarred me for a second, and I turned back.

This part I remember crystal clear.

Severus' face was guarded and almost expressionless. But there was a crack in his mask and I knew that he was just hanging on. His eyes were dark but they were wide, watching me. He was sad, I marveled, he was upset that I was leaving. He really _would_ miss me.

It was a wonderful feeling, to know that someone as seemingly cold as Severus would miss me. I looked at him – he, worrying that I'd get home and not die, sad that I would never return. And I suddenly knew a gift to give him, in return for the vial he gave me.

I'd been wearing two necklaces since Christmas. The vial and my oak leaf. I took a step back to him and unclasped my necklace.

It was, in hindsight, a perfect gift. Oak leafs symbolize strength and endurance, something that Severus would need. At the time, though, I only thought that it was mine, and that he might like a keepsake of me, to remember that I was on his side.

I'd startled him, and his shock shined through for a moment; he looked stricken. He thought I was returning the vial. I smiled, took his hand and put my oak leaf in it, closing his fingers.

"For memory," I told him, looking right into startled brown eyes and not stuttering. "And for hope. You'll make it. You will. And I'll be rooting for you."

I released his hand and stepped back. He opened it, and stared incredulously into his own palm, with my silver leaf in it. Then he closed his fingers and looked into my own eyes.

"For memory," he agreed quietly, and the promise was there.

I smiled at him one last time, remembering, imprinting his face, saying a silent goodbye. Then I turned around, walked into the veil, and did not look back.

"Farewell," he whispered in his soft voice, and that was the last I ever heard from him.

---


	11. EPILOGUE

**Epilogue: **

**Truths and Lies  
To Self and Otherwise**

I thought, for a moment, that I _had_ died. The veil was soft and slippery like silk, and there was simply nothing behind it. Not dark nor light nor fear nor comfort. Just—nothing. And then – a feeling. A question, I guess you could describe it. Or maybe not, maybe I just knew, for no reason, what to think.

I thought of my parents. I thought of my friends. I thought of home and school and—

—and there was a sudden slam of concrete on my back and bright sun in my eyes and someone was shouting, loudly, for the nurse. I stared at the person who had rushed over – long brown hair, brown eyes, and, after a moment's thought, I realized that it was one of my friends. People crowded around me and the nurse rushed over and took my pulse and my friends, all of them, pushed to the front of the crowd.

"Amanda—it's Amanda!"

"She's back!"

"Is she alright?"

"Am, you okay?"

"—she looks okay—"

"—is she bleeding—?"

"—good god, someone get--"

"—call her parents—"

"—Headmaster—"

"_Amanda!"_

I think I must've passed out. The next thing I remember was white hospital walls and flowers. And later, my parents. I was so happy to see them. I cried all over them, and they all over me, but I knew better then to tell them my story. I'd been gone for two months, they'd sobbed, and been so happy that I was alright.

I was amazed. Because I remembered being gone five months. But I didn't say anything.

The next few weeks flew by in a frenzy of news reporters, police and questions. Was I alright? Where had I gone? Who had kidnapped me – could I give a description? How did I just appear like that?

I had no idea how to answer. I gave them a description of Belatrix, because I didn't know what else to do, and I said that I'd been kept blindfolded most of the time. My story slowly developed – I was kidnapped by a psycho – And, blindfolded, held hostage who-knows-where. Then a man, older, I said, saved me. He used some sort of technology on me, I told them. I didn't know what.

Top secret, they said. Wow.

The news reporters and the fascination lasted for about two weeks. I didn't really want to talk about it – I couldn't tell them the truth. How embarrassing! To say I was transported into book land – to Harry Potter land? No one would believe me. So I didn't bother with that story. They took the made-up one much better.

But the frenzy died down, eventually, as no kidnapper was found and things got back to normal. People acted like they forgot.

I didn't.

My parents and friends didn't.

One of the first questions they asked me, aside from the general, "Where'd you go- are you okay?" was "Where'd you get that necklace?"

Which was awkward. I couldn't very well say "Severus Snape gave it to me."

So instead I spun them a story of a kindhearted spy who saved my life and who found the vial and gave it to me as a sign of friendship. I told them I'd given my oak leaf necklace to him, although I, blindfolded, had never seen his face. They seemed to accept that.

Things went back to normal. No one forgot, really, but we moved on. Time passed, in the same way it always does.

I slept in my own room, not in the Black house or in a wardrobe. I put one of Severus' candles in the Blacks' candlestick and put it by my bed. I wore the vial.

And, a few years later, I read Book Six as fast as I could get my hands on it, as I promised Severus I would do. I was shocked when he seemingly betrayed Dumbledore for Voldemort's side.

But I also knew him.

Severus works for himself. He doesn't work for Dumbledore or Voldemort. Perhaps he has loyalties I don't know of, but I doubt it. He's just trying to survive, as he promised he would do. He is no brave Gryffindor, or a loyal Hufflepuff, or a book-smart Ravenclaw. He's a Slytherin and cunning, self-motivated and self preserving. He wants to live.

So there's a reason he killed Dumbledore, I think. A better one then "he works for Voldemort." I know this man – he is not loyal. If anything he is possessive, but he is not loyal. He hates being owned. He's got a trick up his sleeve, I feel. Maybe there was some secret between him and Dumbledore, some promise he's keeping. Maybe there's not. I don't know.

So here I am, waiting for him to wink at me and show me the ace up his sleeve. He'll do me proud, I think.

Believe me if you will, and scoff if you wish. It doesn't really matter to me.

I know I speak the truth.

_Finis_

_---_

_--_

_-_

_Endnote: _Yay! So, that's that. I hope you had as much fun reading this as I did writing it - this is the longest story I've written that's not embarrassingly bad :) It's also my first attempt at not telling the reader everything up front. Some things you might've missed, then: the chapter titles are symptoms of the Stockholm Syndrome, and you'll notice that Amanda exhibits every one of them. This makes her not the most reliable of narrators. She has idolized Severus, and he her in return (Lima Syndrome, on Snape's end). I also think that he would very much like someone friendly but submissive to him, someone he can trust. He is a very lonely person, after all, although he hides it well. So, yes. I'll stop analyzing my own story :) Anyway, thanks to my beta -waves to beta- for all the help, and thanks for the reviewers - 'specially Duj - for all the additional help and for following along. It's been fun!


End file.
